


buried in me (you)

by saffroncassis



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Study, Established Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Implied Sexual Content, Lance-centric, M/M, Minor Character Death, Natural Disasters, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Canon, Post-War, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Weddings, anyway this is dedicated to all the lance stans out there, bc im one too and we deserved better, but definitely not until the end cuz theres some, heavy focus on familial relationships, meaning lots and lots of flashbacks, og lion lineup is best lineup, pls read the notes for more detailed content warnings!, very unrealistic book publishing process for the sake of plot, which skip around a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-29 02:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18216902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saffroncassis/pseuds/saffroncassis
Summary: Lance finally writes about Keith.Because finally he knows what to say, because this thing they have right now, that fits into the spaces between their bodies, nebulous and made entirely by themselves, is new and different from anything before.To Lance, Keith is all brimstone and flame, like hot coals under his feet, urging him on and on and on, but also burning like the sun, a steady presence. He’s fireworks and candles, the heat winding through Varadero homes in summer, the warm sands of both his Sonoran desert and Lance’s beach. Keith is like Earth to Lance, in the same way rain and sea are, a constant now, in the way his memories of Cuba are, something he carries with him.Lance writes in the book Keith gave him, waits for Keith to wake up on his bed, sheets beside him mussed as has been normal of the past few nights, and writes.or, lance becomes a poet, learns how to deal with life and all the complications that come with it, and falls in love for the second time (because the first was already reserved)





	buried in me (you)

**Author's Note:**

> i started writing this fic after season 7, then finally finished it in december, then completely forgot to post it while waiting for beta reads and now here we are, pretty much half a year later. this was so hard to write, but also so much fun, i dont think ive ever enjoyed writing something as much as i have this, and i worked so hard on it im convinced this is the best thing ill ever write for voltron. my magnum opus if you will lol. speaking of which, this is likely my last voltron fic ever, i said all i had to say about the series in this fic, and i dont know if theres anything left for me to explore personally. honestly im glad this is my last for the fandom because it lets me leave voltron on a happy note instead of being bitter about wasting two years of my life on this show lol. 
> 
> this entire fic is pretty much a love letter to lance's character and all that he could have been, and the parts of him that i love the most. its set after season 7, with the season 8 drama never happening and being resolved off screen. there are a couple flashbacks to canon divergent events during season 7, like the space roadtrip taking way longer and shiros connection to black not being broken, so just assume that anything bad from that season didn't happen at all or was reversed. also since this fic was all plotted out before season 8, and before we all saw how lm and jds butchered lances character by making him become a farmer on earth, this has him also living a sedentary life on earth (in this case everyone lives sedentary earth lives though, because going through war in space is both traumatizing and tiring).
> 
> detailed content warnings:  
> -lance's grandfather dies off screen (the fact that we never see lances grandfather on screen in the season 7 reunion scene inspired the entire fic, so this is the premise essentially, but that also means a lot of discussion about this and a lot of grieving and sadness in general)  
> -a hurricane happens and is portrayed in a mostly realistic manner, so this might be upsetting as well  
> -there’s a depiction of a war scene involving bombings portrayed twice, so just a bit beyond canon-typical violence  
> -there's also implied heavy drinking twice, and the implied sexual content happens while drunk so theres some dubious consent there because drunk consent isnt really consent (both parties are mutually intoxicated though, so no ones being taken advantage of)  
> -someone gets accidentally outed, but considering that according to lm and jds the world isnt supposed to be homophobic or bigotted (ha) it doesn't have consequences. it's acknowledged for what it is, but is only a short scene that ends up being comedic

* * *

As far as he can see, everything is some kind of blue. From the rumbling ocean, a sapphire turned roiling navy, to the sky, pale color bleeding into stormy clouds. The wind has picked up, whipping around him in gusts and buffets. Long arms of palm trees reach out and desperately try to grab at nothing, beating helplessly around. It’s enough that Lance’s eyes sting, but not enough to prod him into the safety of indoors.

He closes his eyes, can imagine Perseo on the horizon, barreling towards him like a bull locked onto his red-stained heart, like the ground rushing up to meet him through a burning atmosphere, like enemy soldiers aiming true. 

Hair whips his ears and rain stings his cheeks. He could stay out here for a while, for forever for how moronically comfortable he feels, bare toes numb and teeth chattering. When he opens his eyes and looks down at the ground, squinting in pain of the wind, even the sand is washed in ultramarine. There’s something in him, wild and desperate and years-old, that locks onto that and feels it bury in his chest.

He brings his palms up to his face, and Lance desperately wants Blue.

* * *

 

_“I’ll call Abuela and book her a flight,” Luis says, in Spanish, and kisses his wife before shuffling out of Lance’s hospital room. It’s crowded with his family and everyone is staring at the card laying in his lap. His blanket is wrapped around his niece, Nadia’s, shoulders and Lance’s bare feet are cold, but it’s hard to feel anything under all this excitement._

_Shiro’s getting married. To Adam. His old fiancé._

_Their reunion was movie-screen big, vivid in Lance’s memories. A sighting from across the runway where the paladins’ lions touched down. Adam dropping the tablet he was holding. Shiro turning at the sound and gasping. A slow gravitation towards each other that transformed into a run that transformed into a spinning hug and passionate kisses._

_Love is real, Lance had thought, still thinks now looking at this wedding invitation. Rachel plucks it from him and passes it around so the others can_ ooh _and_ aah _. It’s in a month and a half, and considering Shiro and Adam have no other family, the Espinosa-McClains are staying to help out. The only downside is that Lance can’t be in Cuba yet, so each of his siblings are splitting up their relatives to call or email or text to come up to Arizona._

_Their extended family is tight-knit and would do anything for each other, even if some of them don’t get along. They’re also all doing well enough to book a last minute flight to the Sonoran desert, just to visit the jackass who got proclaimed dead two— no five, in their time— years ago. Lance is eternally grateful._

_Luis comes back into the room ten minutes later, stumbling over Veronica’s chair, and Sylvio runs up to hug his leg. He ruffles his son’s hair then announces to the room that Abuela will be here within a week. Lance smiles._

_“Man, I can’t wait to meet them again. I was really craving Abuela’s_ picadillo, _like, last week.” All the Spanish still feels weird on his tongue. A good kind of weird though. He hasn’t spoken like this in years, since the only practice in outer space was talking to aliens through his translator. He hopes his accent hasn’t spoiled._

_“Don’t just use your grandmother for her food,” Papi says._

_“I do miss her though! Abuelo too. I even miss his bad cologne. Seriously, who would even want to smell like farts all the time?”_

_Lance waits for Marco to laugh and for Papi to berate him again, but it never comes. Instead, the room turns silent, like someone looking at a television and clicking mute. Rachel slinks back over to his side, and the muffled creak of the bed as she sits beside him is too loud in his ears. Something heavy settles in his gut. She slides her hand into his own._

_“Oh,_ mi hijo _,” Mami finally says, and Lance has never felt colder._

* * *

 

His grandfather passed away one year after Lance jettisoned off into space like some bright-eyed frontiersman. It wasn’t slow or seen coming. Lance took one small step onto alien soil and in the same breath, Abuelo took one giant leap into the afterlife.

* * *

 

_“Now, don’t get too far!”_

_A six year old Lance giggles, and just runs faster across the white-gold sand towards the sparkling sea. Beside him, Rachel tries to shove him to slow Lance down, and he shoves her back. Abuelo slowly strolls after them both, towel, umbrella, and bag of juice boxes in hand._  

 _“If mermaids steal you both, your Mami will be_ very _mad at me! Wait by the water,” he says, and drops his things onto the sand before walking over to the children. Lance whines impatiently and comes to a stop with the waves splashing around his calves._

_“Look at what I found,” Rachel shouts in his ear, and holds a crab up to his face. Lance goes a little cross-eyed looking at it as it crawls across his sister’s palm. It has a spiralling off-white shell with a muddy red body._

_“It’s ugly,” Lance determines, and Rachel gasps._

_“Don’t call him that!” She clutches her palm to her chest, covers it with her other hand, then whispers down to the crab. “Don’t let him make you sad, my brother’s just stupid.”_

_“You’re not aloud to use that word,” Lance complains. “Abuelo,” he yells, swivelling around to find his grandfather a few feet away from them. “Rachel used the S-word!”_

_Abuelo grunts as he sits down between both of them in the surf. “Rachel knows the S-word? I thought this was a clean house.”_

_“We can say stupid when Papi’s not around,” Rachel says, rolling her eyes._

_“That’s a teck-ee-alty!”_

_“Technicality.” Abuelo corrects, then turns to the other twin.  “And why did you say the S-word anyway?”_

_“Lance called my baby ugly!”_

_Abuelo coaxes the little crab out of Rachel’s hands, then makes a show out of examining it. “Now, Lancito, it doesn’t matter how it looks, but wouldn’t you agree it’s kind of cute?” Lance makes a disgusted face while Rachel looks at him triumphantly. “And Rachel, you shouldn’t call your brother stupid.”_

_“But he_ was _being stupid,” she complains, little eyebrows furrowing. “You said he was wrong!”_  

_“But you’re family! You shouldn’t let these kinds of trivial arguments keep you from the people you love.”_

_Rachel pouts but lets it go._

_“What’s trivial mean,” Lance asks, gripping his grandfather’s shoulder after being left out of the conversation for a little too long._

_“It means sma— Shit!”_

_“Smaashit,” Lance asks as Abuelo clutches at his finger in pain. The little crab, having been dropped after pinching him, scuttles off._  

 _“No,” Abuelo exclaims, and then when Rachel repeats the word, “no no no no!” He stands up and takes hold of each of the kids’ hands. “Wow, would you look at that, the water’s super blue today, huh? Let’s all go swimming!”_  

_Lance and Rachel look at eachother and grin, easily distracted. “I bet I can swim faster than you,” Lance says._

_“Nuh uh,” Rachel replies, sticking her tongue out at him. Then she starts running into the waves, tugging grandfather and grandson along with her. Lance screams then runs too, while Abuelo just lets himself be pulled along into the ocean, laughing._

_“Careful in the water now,” he says. “Don’t ever let go of me!”_

* * *

 

When his grandfather was a young boy, bussing tables at the local restaurant after school and on weekends, he met Lance’s grandmother. She would always hang out with her friends at an ice cream parlor across the street, and after spending his entire shift all moony-eyed, Abuelo would strut over and spring some horrible pick up lines.

He’s heard this story a hundred-thousand times, and every single time Papi never fails to mention that all Lance’s bad habits come from his mother’s side of the family. Then Abuela will always scold Papi and say that he has no right to be complaining when they both know well and fine that he fell just as weak to that McClain-brand flirting as she did. 

Later, while her mother, Lance’s great-grandmother, was sick and Abuela needed to take care of the household chores, his grandfather would steal her away for a few precious moments. Lance has caught far too many whispers between his grandparents, who can never seem to tell when they’re alone or not, about very quick and very sexual encounters behind buildings and on beaches.

When the two finally told and convinced their own parents to let them date, they would “borrow” Abuelo’s uncle’s motorcycle. Rebellious teenagers, they were. Abuelo would whisk his love off into the saturated sunset, vision drenched in hearts and stars, dizzied and speeding through the bright streets of Varadero.

* * *

 

_Glass shatters around him, bullets puncturing through the plaster walls of the little booth, glancing off his armor. The old woman in his arms lets out a rattling breath, and the glass ornaments hanging up around them send rainbows scattering over all the red staining her, dripping from her. A young boy presses up into both of them, trembling._

_“It’ll be okay,” Lance says thickly, eyes watering from all the floating dust, from the sight of someone bleeding out in his arms. “It’ll be okay, It’s fine, the rest of the paladins will be here soon, I promise—”_  

_Another deafening blast goes off somewhere to the right of them, the ornaments rattling and knocking against one another like windchimes. The woman gasps, the glowing green lines on her small body flashing bright in pain. Lance curses, and feels white hot rage go through him._

_It was supposed to be a typical mission, he and Hunk and the Blade arriving planetside with a strategy to free the entire place from Galran rule. It shouldn’t have been hard. Osk-teirn is small and valued only for its precious metals, which can also be found in its bigger, sister planet across the solar system. Not many soldiers are planted here, mainly sentries, and the people are allowed to rule themselves under supervision. It should have been an easy mission, would have been, had it not been for the fact that the Galra apparently had a secret weapons base here, creating new types of explosives using these metals._

_The base had been alerted of the Blade’s arrival almost immediately and, before Kolivan could request backup, had started firing on the civilian towns. Lance, being who he is, ran out of Red, bayard in hand, ready to get as many citizens as he could back into his lion._

_And now here he is, a woman in his arms who’d been shot by a sentry while gathering her grandson up, her long ears now drooping and robes soaked in blood._

Red, _he thinks, he begs,_ Red, come on come on please, Red hear me hear me I need you _hear me._

_Another blast, close this time, so close he can smell the odd smoke and bleach scent of it. The woman shudders, eyes fluttering as she says something he doesn’t understand to the little boy, the language a myriad of hushed, snaking murmurs. She gives one great heave, and stills. The lights on her cheeks and arms die out into black._

_Lance feels his heart crack in two, thinks_ no no no nonono _no_ , this can’t be it, help is getting here soon, a Blade will be here soon, not yet not _yet_ _and—_

_He runs a quivering hand over her face, closing her eyes, lays her down and uses a dusty tarp to cover her body. The little boy is crying furiously, but knows enough by now to have his hands covering his mouth, muffling the sobs so they don’t get found out._

_“I’m sorry,” Lance says softly, trying not to cry as well. It’s the first time he’s been exposed to this, death in any way, and this close. The two of them are both in the same pool, but while Lance is wading in the shallow end, the boy has jumped into the deep and is now struggling for breath._

_The boy shakes his head even though he can’t understand him with how mangled Lance’s translator is, and presses himself into the cocoon of the paladin’s arms as another round of bullets find their way into the booth. Lance encloses him in, crushes him against the armor on his chest._

_“I’m not letting you die,” he says, and prays it isn’t as empty a promise as his last. “I’m not letting anyone else die._

* * *

 

It wasn’t his fault. It was late at night and a truck was turning around the corner, didn’t notice any sort of small two-wheeled vehicle, and crashed right into him. When people are focusing on one thing, like looking out for other trucks or turning a corner with a boat attached to their rear, they tend not to notice other things, like a bike on the road.

Attention blindness. Lance learned about it in the Garrison’s mandatory psychology course. It’s one of the main reasons motorcycle crashes happen, and why it’s so dangerous to ride one in certain places where most people drive cars.

So the bike was trashed, plating dented and handlebars crooked. They kept the headlights, though, for his grandmother. They sit in a trunk in her attic, right along with Abuelo’s ugly moto-jacket which she’d embroidered herself.

* * *

 

_The wedding was hard. Is hard_

_Everything speeds by in a blur, and it's like Lance is off-center from Earth’s axis, turning a fraction of a degree too slow. He grins and tells Shiro the white roses would look better on those tables over there, stop panicking it’ll be okay, Hunk sit him down so I can do his makeup._  

_Lance taste-tests the cake and lugs chairs to and fro, then by night explains different Earth wedding ceremonies to Coran. He picks matching outfits with Allura and kisses her goodnight as has become usual of the past few months. He finds Pidge (when she’s not glued to her family) and does her hair in a bunch of different styles. He meets with Keith and talks to him about being best man, because he’d been that at Luis and Lisa’s wedding._

_Lance is all smiles and laughter but hiding the hole in his heart is impossible._  

_Shiro keeps making him rest, Hunk sends him concerned glances in between determining what kind of appetizers they should order, Coran pulls him away from the busyness which is bad, makes it worse when he can’t distract himself. Allura asks him what's wrong and when he brushes off her concerns she takes him with her to test out the dancefloor. Even Pidge raises an eyebrow when he doesn’t respond to her jabs in annoyance, and sometimes he’ll lose himself for a moment and come back to everything, only to find Keith staring._

_He doesn’t say anything though, and after a while everyone else gives in to the swell of activity around them. He lets his own family bury him under tight hugs and greetings and spends sleepless nights staring at his ceiling, in one of the Garrison’s dorm rooms. He sneaks in some wine during the afterparty and deals with it by himself, because that’s what he’s gotten used to._

* * *

 

Cuba is hot and bright; it smells like garlic knots, sounds like children giggling, and feels like his mom’s hugs.

It’s been two months since coming back, and most of his extended family is back in their own homes. Veronica is at the Garrison, still working as an engineer, and Lance spends his days with the rest of his family, cooking with his parents and going on morning runs with Rachel and helping out at Marco’s new music store. At night, he sneaks out to the beach, the private little cove close by, and swims in silence. 

Now, Lance settles himself further back into his armchair, ensconced in plush and with a niece curled up on either side. His dad has the guitar out and is singing a love song to his mother, while Rachel and Marco try to interrupt him by throwing couch pillows.

The salon windows are all open, and humid air is devoured by the ceiling fan before being spit out and wandering around the room as cool breezes, caressing cheeks and limbs. At his right, Benita looks up at Lance and smiles brightly, a bowl of cubed mango in her lap. Then, with the same grin plastered over her face, she smacks a sticky hand right on his cheek.

Lance gasps audibly and makes an exaggerated face. The offense combined with the sound of the _smack_ sends both nieces into a tizzy, halfway between squealing in disgust and giggling riotously. “Ben _-ita_ ! And Nadia, would you stop laughing and _encouraging_ her? How _dare_ you—“ and he breaks off into a Spanish tirade that has half the room looking over at them to see what the fuss is about.

“All right you two,” Luis makes his way over, “why don’t you let Lancey-Lance wash off this mess he made and come find Sylvio with me?” He scoops up the girls, holding one under each arm and leaving Lance to grab their bowls so they don’t tumble down and spill mango all over the floor. Lance sets the bowls on Lisa’s lap and runs off before she can smack his hand, and washes off in the kitchen sink. While he’s wiping off with a towel draped on the back of a dining table chair, his grandmother calls him over from outside.

He walks out into the backyard, glass door squeaking behind him, and grins. “Hey Abuela, what’s up?” 

She smiles at him in greeting and he sits down next to her on the cement steps. Abuela takes hold of his hands in her leathery ones. “I know how hard these months have been,” she starts, “and I am sorry you were not able to be here earlier. I want you to have this.” She reaches beside her, where a paper bag is lying on the ground next to the steps.

Lance takes the bag, finding it unexpectedly heavy, and reaches inside.

He takes out a book, thick and black and gold, embossed lettering reading “ _Entremedio los Espacios de las Estrellas por Alejandro McClain_ ”.

He’s seen this, everywhere from his grandfather’s desk to local bookstores, and had never thought to buy it before. What would a boy wanting to fly do with poems, afterall. He runs his hands over the cover, feeling the texture under the pads of his fingers, feeling the indents of the letters. He flips open the book and finds a signature on the inside. His grandfather's loopy, small handwriting spelling out “I love you” and all his grandchildren’s names underneath.

The book had been published when Lance had just been a baby, a newborn, and the last name is his own, preceding the flourished “Alejandro McClain”, big and bold. The next page, and the dedication printed there is to his grandmother. He thumbs through the pages, one by one, not really pausing to read them, just feeling the book in his hands, the thick pages, flips through it until—

* * *

 

_Their church is at the opposite edge of Varadero, and behind it is a field, dotted with intricately carved gravestones like big white flowers. The Espinosa-McClains visited there the day after returning home to Cuba, to pay respects to the man buried six feet under. Lance stands there now, alone while the rest of the family is inside to speak with Father Santiago._

_He places flowers at the foot of the white stone, stares at the words written on it for what seems like hours._ In Memory of Alejandro McClain, a Loving Husband, Father, Grandfather and Poet. _Lance sits down in front of the stone, and his Mami comes up behind to tell him everyone is leaving. It must have been a long while. He tells her he just wants some time, and she leaves too._  

_Lance sits there, and thinks about his grandfather, who used to give him chocolates when no one was looking, who used to take him to the beach at night time, who used to let him ride on a motorcycle underneath the bright stars and take in the night air as it whipped past. Who taught him about constellations and space._

_From up on his Abuelo’s shoulders the world had seemed small and space so close, like if he just reached out, his fingers could brush the inky black speckled with diamonds. His grandfather would sit Lance on his thigh and tell him jokes, and still kept kissing his forehead even when he was too big to fit on his lap._

_Lance misses him so much, there's a gaping hole in his chest, yawning and wide, black where it should be blue. He wants his Abuelo, wants him so bad it hurts, but all he does is sit there and stare. It’s all he can manage, now, and Lance wonders if he cried so much out there in space that now he can’t even cry for his grandfather. Like the well inside him has emptied out so many times over that it’s lost the ability to fill up  and won’t ever again._

* * *

 

—he flips through the book fast and quick with the sun shining bright into his eyes and his grandmother staring at him and the words “I love you” thrum in his chest as though someone started strumming the bones in his ribcage. He flips through the book until tears fall onto the pages.

His shoulders shake, and his hand goes up to cover his mouth, to muffle the sobs, and his vision is so blurry with tears that the light fractures in glass shapes, kaleidoscope shapes. Abuela takes the book from his lap and holds the back of his neck, pulls him in close until he’s nothing but a crumpled up figure pressing into her petite frame.

She closes him into the cocoon of her arms, and Lance relies on her fragile body like armor. His eyes are screwed shut, breath coming in broken gasps, overcome by his emotions and the sensations of a warm body and the taste of salty tears.

He cries and cries, letting it all out, cries for his Abuelo who he’ll never see again, who he’ll never hug again or get to tell stories about his adventures in space to. Cries because his Abuelo will never get to see Lance or any of his grandchildren, will never get to kiss his wife nor hold his daughters or sons. He cries and just lets it all out until he can’t anymore.

It feels like ages until he calms down and he can breath in steadily through burning lungs. He pulls away from his grandmother, and she wipes his eyes and cheeks. 

“Sorry” he says, eyes burning and feeling better than he has in months. And before she can reply, adds on a “thank you.”

 She scolds him anyway. “Don't apologize. You should never apologize for your feelings, _mi hijo_.” She gives the book back to him, and he stares numbly at the now-wet pages.

“Okay. Thank you,” he says again.

“You’re welcome.” She snakes an arm around his waist and nestles him into her side. “You’re a strong boy, Lance. Very strong.”

* * *

 

_“Lance?” Keith’s voice is quiet, uncertain, and when Lance turns he sees the other boy standing in the doorway to the hangar._

_“Hey,” he says, and Keith takes that as the okay for him to walk closer. When he sits down next to Lance, it’s clear he’s concerned, but he doesn’t say anything._

_There’s silence for a while, and Lance goes back to just watching Red, still in his bloodstained armor, eyes burning and heart wobbling between flashes of emptiness. It’s been maybe half an hour, and he’s still here on the cold, metal floor, unable to just process this._

_The little boy is safe now, with his parents and somewhere in the castleship as refugees. Keith should be there too, along with Allura, being the Black Paladin. But instead he’s here wasting his time with Lance, who doesn’t even know how to start a conversation anymore._

_Lance doesn’t know how much time passed between the old woman dying and the reinforcements arriving, just that when he’d been thinking that the child and him would die together, under a collapsed trinkets stall, the shooting had stopped. He’d dragged himself from the wreck and saw that a group of Blades had taken out the sentries and soldiers, and carried the boy back to Red with him. Red, who hadn’t responded to his desperate pleas for help, because she couldn’t hear him, because Lance couldn’t_ reach _her._

_“I heard what happened,” Keith says finally, softly. It must have been one of the Blades then, who’d somehow found the fresh corpse a few minutes after Lance had left. Keith hesitates a moment then places a hand on Lance’s shoulder. “It must have been hard. I’m sorry.”_

_“Don’t be,” Lance says, “it wasn’t your fault.”_ _He leans into the hand, leans into the small comfort, and falls into Keith’s side._

_Keith takes that as a cue to hug him, and Lance presses his face into the other’s chest._

_“She died Keith.”_

_“I know.”_

_“She was right in my arms, and I wasn’t able to do_ anything _.”_

_“I know. I’m sorry.” The other’s voice sounds thick._

_“I’m sorry too,” Lance says, and can’t hold it in any more. He lets himself go and cries into Keith’s arms._

* * *

 

Lance spends the next week reading his grandfather’s book. He’s never been much of a reader, and the poems are harder to parse than narratives. Sometimes, even if he can’t understand any meaning beyond them, Lance will just repeat the words aloud, turning the poem over on his tongue, feeling the texture of it and the way it flows from syllable to syllable. Takes in the sentences about stars and family and love and lets them soak in.

So many of the poems are about things he knows, even if not in person. A description of his Mami as a child, a turn of phrase about the archer in the sky, a lyricism spoken from the soul about Abuela. 

There’s an entire poem in there about him, too. Not really, because the book was published shortly after he was born, but about him in his mother’s belly. About how excited his Abuelo was for him, for this new grandchild who would go on to do great things, about hope for the future and leaving it in the hands of the young ones.

Lance reads that one over and over again and, as much as he’s been through, thinks his Abuelo would be proud of what Lance has done so far.

He reads the poem about his Mami aloud before dinner one day and watches her turn red at the descriptions of her being a child menace. This one is long and meandering, curving this way and that, and rhymes wonderfully. Despite her embarrassment, Mami smiles with sad eyes, and Papi hugs her from behind. 

Lance reads these poems, takes in what he has left of his grandfather, delights in the familiarity and cries at it too. He reads the book over and over, and in a month, he can recite some of the poems from memory. A few more months and he has near all of it down. It helps, so so much. He feels better with it around, on his bedside table, in his heart.

He needs to thank Abuela again, some way better than just words, so Lance digs around in his closet for old knicknacks she gave him, for inspiration. He bumps into the paper bag the book came in, stuck in the back with grocery bags and wrappers, and out spills something that glints in the splashes of light that made it into the closet. 

It’s a pen, which turns out to have been hiding in the bag for months, unnoticed in the face of the book. It’s black and gold, a solid weight in his hands, metal shining. When Lance turns it in his fingers, there are the initials A and M carved into the side, also gold.

Lance holds his breath, holds it far more carefully than before. It’s his grandfather’s pen.

* * *

 

_“Lance.”_

_He turns from his suitcase, lets the shirt he was folding fall onto the bed, and smiles at Allura. “Finally dropping in to visit your poor boyfriend after forever, I see.”_

_She rolls her eyes but makes her way into the room, closing the door behind her. “I should be telling you that, with how busy you were with the wedding. I barely got to see you.”_

_“I know, sorry about that Lu.” He needs to overwork himself to take his mind off of Abuelo though, so the apology is more for not spending enough time with her than for not resting, which is what Lance knows she really means. “We’re together now though.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, which would normally get a huffed out laugh, but now only gets him a small smile._

_“We won’t be together for long, though.” Allura walks over to him and finishes folding the shirt he’d dropped. “You’ll be leaving in a few days.”_

_“You could come with me,” he says, even though he knows that’s not likely. The Altean colony is still up in space, light years away and vulnerable to any who might want to attack it. To any who might have already taken over._

_Allura is silent for a moment, grabs another shirt from the pile on his bed to fold. Her hair is down around her, and Lance wraps a strand around his finger. Even worried and stressed she looks lovely, a beacon of light, curls glowing silvery white against her smooth, dark skin._

_“We’re leaving tonight,” she says all of a sudden, and Lance drops her hair._  

 _“What,” he says, and feels the smallest bit of despair growing in him. “That’s so soon, you weren’t going to leave for weeks—”_ I was supposed to at least have these few days with you.

_“Yes,” Allura says, turning to him. “But we received a transmission from Kolivan a few hours ago. There was a surge of energy from the Quantum Abyss, and when an agent checked it out, they saw that a land mass had somehow been extracted from it.”_

_“Haggar?”_

_“Very likely. We need to head back as soon as possible.”_  

_Lance swallows, clenches his hands. “So,” he starts, then clears his throat. “I guess this is it?” He already knows the answer, but asking makes it seem like there’s some kind of hope._

_Allura looks at him with wet eyes. “Yes. This is it.”_

_He feels something crush his chest, crawling up and constricting his heart. A vice grip around his vital organs. “I love you,” he says, for the last time, feels the ghosts of all the other times sing it in his ears too._  

 _“I love you too, Lance. I think there is some part of me that always will, in some way.”_  

_Lance nods, because he knows he will too. Knows that even until the last star out there explodes into a supernova, some piece of his heart will belong to her. Even if the warm, fluttery feeling in his chest fades and he’s married to someone else and has grandchildren, he’ll love this woman in some way._

_“One last kiss,” he asks, trying to smile like normal._

_Allura laughs weakly. “I’m afraid that I wouldn’t be able to pry myself away then.”_

_Lance laughs too, and folds her into himself instead. She’s hard and soft in all the right places, and when he buries his nose in her hair she smells like coconut shampoo._

_She’ll be gone tomorrow. Lance will wake up and stare at his ceiling and realise that he’s lost her forever, in this kind of way at least. This beautiful alien princess, who came into his life like a bolt of lightning, will be gone just as quick, gone with a flashbang and smoke. He’ll always have her as a friend, but he now mourns her as a lover, mourns her private smiles and the way she clutches the back of his shirt when they nap together, mourns her soft hands and the way she shrieks whenever he kisses her stomach._  

 _Allura has always reminded him of the stars, and now it’s even truer, painfully so. Beautiful and out of reach, who he’d longed for all his life; he was spun by the universe and deposited right at their— at_ her _— doorstep, before plummeting back down to earth._

_Allura is as beautiful as she is ephemeral. Completely so._

* * *

 

Lance pulls up the transmission on his old communicator eagerly. Out of the little family they’d made out in space, Allura and the other alteans are the only ones he’s been talking to over the past few months. It’s hard to talk to the others, who are all adjusting with their own families, and he just doesn’t know how to anymore with all the grief clouded around him. But his princess has always been comforting, one of his best friends in addition to the person he’d loved. 

“Lance!” Coran starts the call by leaning into frame, obscuring the others. He’d been busy with rebuilding New Altea and the two haven’t spoken in a few weeks.

“Hey, Coran! Long time no see. And Romelle, Allura.”

“Hello, Lance,” Allura says, and Romelle greets him too while she pulls Coran back. The princess is wearing a new dress, salmon, spaghetti strapped, and summery. It looks like it’s been stitched together from both earth and altean fashions. “How are you?”

“Great, glad you asked! Marco got a crab stuck to his ass the other day at the beach, so make that ‘amazing’, actually.”

Allura giggles, and Lance watches her tuck a long strand of hair behind her ear. Her nails are painted pink.

“I’d say that boy deserved it,” Coran says, and his mustache twitches the way his upper lip always does when he’s joking.

“You just don’t like him because he beat you in that rhyming competition,” Romelle says, grinning as Coran squawks in faux-offense. It was really more like a rap-battle, a horrible one at that, one that had everyone in stitches at Shiro and Adam’s wedding reception.

Allura rolls her eyes, and starts to give Lance the update of how they finally kicked out the last of Honerva’s spies, and have managed to build a capital city (with Olkari help, of course). He listens intently, gives a few suggestions on how to organise civilian groups so everyone can get shelter, and then she launches into a story about the cultural misunderstandings between New and old Altea.

Eventually, Rachel barges into their shared room looking for a sports bra, and pleasantries are exchanged. Romelle and her had gotten along swimmingly during the wedding, due to a frighteningly similar sense of humor. They start talking about the road trip, and somehow end up playing some New Altean word association game. Lance is sure Coran is making some of these words up, but no one knows enough about the Taujeerian language to dispute anything.

“Shit,” Rachel says, looking at the clock on her desk. “I gotta go if I wanna finish my run before dinner. Catch ya’ later, guys!”

“Goodbye, Lance’s sister,” Romelle exclaims, and Coran wishes her off the same way. “We should be going as well, there is still much work to be done.”

“Right,” Lance says. “Bye, Coran, Romelle, Allura.”

Allura smiles and waves. “I’ll see you soon, Lance.”

* * *

 

_The first poem he writes is about Allura._

_She’s his stars, and everything that reminds him about space. She’s his first love and so that’s where he starts._

_It’s not very good, wavering from topic to topic, just spilling out things he wants to say. He writes about how he met her, a goddess up in the cosmos, both of them planted there by fate. He writes about her laugh, about her love, about how it felt like pinpricks of light in his chest and like cartwheeling through the night sky. Like nebulas and glittering diamonds embedded in black velvet, a whirlwind through and through. Came and ended with a flash, a supernova, the rise and fall. She was there, and then she wasn’t, but that’s okay because she’s always_ here _._

_It’s okay if their love is quelled, because even if it changes forms, it’ll always be there. The stars are still always present, afterall, even if they aren’t close anymore._

* * *

 

It’s Rachel who finds the poems, written on looseleaf paper and held together by a binder clip, stuffed underneath his bed. Lance still doesn’t know why she was snooping around under there, but he can’t exactly be mad since he once stuck an entire box of granola bars under her own bed.

Anyway, it’s Rachel who finds the poems, who reads them, who shows them to Veronica, who reads them, who shows them to Mami and Papi, who read them, who finally show them to Abuela, who doesn’t read them and instead calls the same publishing house who’d printed his grandfather’s book. She then calls him immediately after setting up an appointment for the next week, and he’s both mortified and angry enough to not speak to any of them for almost a whole day.

He can’t make it past that of course, because this is just the way their family is, and so he’s talking to them again by supper. It’s all complaining about his privacy until Papi interrupts him by telling him which poem was his favorite, and Mami following suit. Now Marco wants to read them too, and that’s how Lance learns that Rachel photocopied all his poems onto her phone, and he sits in silent embarrassment while Marco reads the one about Shiro and the start of his dreams aloud.

No one makes fun of him though (not that it was ever expected they would) and Lance is glad because these poems are close to his heart. They detail his life in space, everything he went through back then. He used it as catharsis, a way to process his emotions. The first ones were horrible, but by now he’s rewritten them dozens of times until he’s satisfied.

If nothing else, they’re _his_ poems, _his_ heart and soul. They’ve taken a year to write, because he tends to vomit out words first, then go painfully slow with his revisions. They’re parts of his soul at this point, and hearing his family read and love them, praise them, sends him reeling.

He visits the publishing house the next week.

* * *

 

“So,” Allura starts off the call, sounding nervous. “I have some news for you.”

“Alright, what’s up,” Lance asks. She comes to him often enough when she’s stressed, either needing a pick me up and distraction or some advice. They both come to each other like that, to comfort one another about things. It’s part of why their friendship had translated so well into a romance and then back again.

“Romelle and I are dating.”

Lance blinks in surprise, caught off guard. By how anxious Allura sounded, he’d expected something negative. “That’s great, right? Why are you….”

“It is great!” Allura cuts him off then winces. “I am happy to be with her, but I was worried about delivering the news to you, considering our previous state of relationship.”

Allura, always kind and concerned and looking out for the welfare of others. A chord is struck is in chest, a bright note, and though it doesn’t reverberate it does send a wash of fondness over him. Lance laughs a little. “Thank you for the consideration, Princess, but I’m fine. I’m happy for both of you, genuinely.” He smiles at her. “You deserve it.” She does, after years of hard work and pain, deserve to be happy with someone she can stay and build a family with, in a land with other alteans, with her people. 

Allura relaxes at that, her shoulders loosening. “Thank you,” she says, and smiles. “I didn’t doubt you’d be okay with it, but I didn’t want to— to unintentionally hurt you somehow.”

“You didn’t,” Lance assures her, marvels at her kind heart. “Now, I want all the details. How and when did this happen, exactly?”

Allura is is happy to oblige, and is practically dying to tell him everything, from their outing which was possibly a date or possibly not, to when Romelle kissed her to get ice cream off the corner of her mouth. Her cheek marks glow bright pink, almost blindingly so. “She was so sly and slick, you should’ve seen her face! I’d never seen anyone as smug before. Oh, and the ice cream was very good too, thank you and Hunk for teaching us how to make it—” Lance grins, glad that Kaltenecker’s been a hit over in New Altea.

Romelle walks in from offscreen, calling Allura over for lunch, and after a hasty goodbye the two leave Lance staring at his now black communicator screen. Allura has moved on, found comfort and maybe even love in another person. The force of all those stars have turned on someone else, shining bright and in multicolor. Lance can still feel the shadow of them over him, but he has his own spark in him too. Not exactly a star, but something glowing inside him, happily growing.

* * *

 

_One of his poems is about Osk-teirn, about the old woman and the little boy. That’s not something he will ever forget, but it’s also not something he wants to carry heavy in his heart, like an anchor, staying him in the middle of sea. So he writes it out instead._

_It’s the hardest poem to write, and he erases over and over and over until his paper tears and he has to get a new one. He can’t describe the exact way the glass ornaments shone or clattered overhead, the exact way the bombs felt as the vibrations travelled from his legs up to rattle his brain in his skull, the exact way that woman took her last breath or the exact way that boy shook in his arms._  

 _Instead, he speaks in abstracts, writes in colors and feelings and metaphors, because there’s no way to take a snapshot of something like that. Even his heart can’t capture the feelings or memories exactly the same, though it’s vivid in his mind, a flashbulb memory that he won’t forget. It’s not exactly accurate, but that’s fine, because as long as the poem quiets his heart that’s all he needs._  

_He puts all his emotions into this one, his emotions about that grandmother and her grandson, about himself and his Abuelo, about death’s relationship with him. It’s a hard one to write, yeah, but it’s worth it._

* * *

 

Lance lets the gigantic stack land on the table, papers fluttering and loud _thud_ resonating in the wood. “Last round of edits,” he says, and leans an elbow on it.

Angela smiles. “Well, that was quick. I could have sworn you were just here a few days ago.”

“I guess you could say I’m excited.” It’s a definite understatement. His book, his poems that he wrote with his own hands, poured his heart and soul into, are going to be published in nine weeks. After months of editing and dozens of trips to this very office, his story is going to be out in the world.

Most others would probably be nervous, but Lance wants these published as soon as possible. Partly because he wants the people of Earth to understand how wide and gaping the world out there is, and partly for his Abuelo.

His grandfather wrote poems about his everyday life, about his feelings towards his family, and he turned them into something more. He took a part of himself, added stardust and sent it careening off into the unknown, for someone else to find. Lance wants to do that too. He’ll take a piece of himself and soak it in cosmos, mix it into the great churning ocean, sprinkle in a pinch of quintessence, and chuck it away.

“Are we still good with your title,” Angela asks. “I need to send these off for printing soon.”

“Yeah,” Lance says. “It’s an homage to my grandfather, so I’m keeping it.”

 _Entremedio los Espacios de las Estrellas._ In Between the Gaps of Stars.

* * *

 

_Lance doesn't write a poem about Keith._

_It's more like he can't, really. Because what is he supposed to say about the man that’s one of his best friends, one of his first crushes and his only bisexual awakening. The one who helped Lance through his doubts about being a paladin, about being with Allura, about if he’d ever return to Earth._

_Nothing he writes is quite right: sometimes it's too romantic, just not who they are when they're together; sometimes it's too grateful, and even though Keith won’t ever read this, he’d be upset at Lance for every implying they didn’t help_ each other _out, that they were anything but equals; sometimes it's too casual and doesn't encompass all of the enormity of what their relationship means to him._

_Lance gives up. Even if he can’t figure out or understand his feelings now, he will eventually._

* * *

 

In front of him is a box. A cardboard box filled with almost two years worth of work, a box filled with his memories and feelings and just the overwhelming sensation of _him._ It’s Lance’s box, unopened but bulging with his essence, just like the person it mirrors, emotions ready to leap out and fly at any given moment. The box is held shut with packing tape, clear and shining, seams waiting to be broken. Lance clutches the kitchen knife in his hand, brown fingers wrapped tight on the gray handle, knees digging into the rug.

“Would you just open it already,” Marco says loudly, sitting across from him, and Mami levels him with a stern look.

Lance mouths “asshole” over her shoulder, and takes the knifepoint to the tape. “Could’ve let me savor the moment,” he snips, sliding the blade under the flaps. Marco rolls his eyes, and Lance hands the knife off to Papi so he doesn’t impale his brother.

“You were taking too long,” Rachel says, and though she’s defending Marco she’s resting her head on Lances shoulder, so he’ll take that one as a draw. Abuela snorts from next to both of them. 

With a gulp, Lance lifts the flaps of the box open, and is met with a beautiful sight. Books are stacked, rows of three and columns of four, covers deep blue. His books. He picks one up with trembling hands, traces over the embossed gold spelling out the title, the english twin of his grandfather’s, spelling out his own name in place of _Alejandro McClain_. It’s only when his book is taken from him that Lance realizes he’s started crying.

He wipes the tears from his cheeks and feels his face curve into a wide smile, and lets out a watery laugh. “Holy shit,” he says breathlessly, and it’s a testament to the moment that Mami doesn’t scold him for the language. “Holy shit.”

Rachel envelopes him in a hug, and the rest of his family follows suit, laughing too. “Congratulations, _mi hijo_ ,” his grandmother says, and Lance grins at her through blurry eyes and around Rachel’s hair. “I know Abuelo is proud of you.”

* * *

 

_Lance finds Keith in the Black Lion’s hangar. He’s sitting on one of her paws, feet pulled up in front of him and chin on his knees. Since he’s facing the door, he notices Lance and makes to hop off the lion, but Lance holds a hand up to stop him._

_“Did anything happen,” Keith asks as Lance climbs up beside him._

_“Nah, I was just looking for you.”_

_“Oh.” Keith doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he’s surprised, and Lance lets out a breath through his nose._

_“Couldn’t find you anywhere so I was getting kinda’ worried, man. What if you’d run off to fight Lotor by yourself again,” Lance jokes, and Keith all but pouts._

_“I wouldn’t do that now,” he mumbles, and leans his cheek on his knees again so he’s facing Lance. “You don’t have to be worried though. I’m just thinking about Shiro.”_

_“We’ll find him,” Lance says immediately. “We haven’t given up yet, and it’ll be easier to search with all five lions now.”_

_Keith bites his bottom lip, like he doesn’t believe Lance but doesn’t want to tell him that either._  

 _Lance doesn’t know what else to say to make Keith believe him, and he doesn’t want to make promises he can’t keep. He knows Keith well enough by now to understand that just being physically here is enough for now, so they sit in companionable silence for a while. Keith is looking down at his feet, and Lance is looking at him._  

_There are dark circles under his eyes, a constant now, like inverse crescent moons cupping the black of his irises. His skin is translucent and lifeless, and Lance makes a mental note to do face masks together. Keith’s hair is the only thing unchanged by stress, meaning it’s just as shiny and disheveled as usual. Strands frame his face and fall around his neck in loose waves. Lance’s hands start to fidget, and he scooches behind Keith._

_“Let me do your hair,” he says, without preamble._

_Keith freezes. “What.”_

_“It’ll be fine, I used to braid my twin sister’s hair all the time—”_

_“Rachel, I know,” Keith says, and Lance feels his stomach flip, pleased that he remembered. “I haven’t washed it in days though.”_

_“That's why we need to get it out of your face,” Lance counters, and reaches forward to place a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “I’ll be gentle.”_

_“You don’t have a hair tie.” It’s spoken softly, like he’s trying to save face even as he’s leaning back._

_Lance digs around in his pockets and triumphantly waves a few ribbons in the other’s face. “I was helping Hunk with refugee packages earlier.”_

_Keith doesn’t say anything else, so Lance drops the ribbons in his lap so he can choose one. While he busies himself with that, Lance runs his fingers through his long black hair. It’s inscrutably soft, for being washed solely with the two-in-one shampoo plus conditioner they found installed in industrial cans on the walls of the pool’s showers. The showers don’t even happen that often nowadays, because Keith is spread so thin and grasping at each shallow breath with so much pain that Lance has to be the one to pull him up and out of the pilot’s seat and lead him to the stalls when he remembers. So Keith’s hair is inscrutably soft, but there are enough tangles that it’s expected. Whenever his fingers get caught he combs through the tangle with his hands, gently tugging. Once the hair is all smooth he starts to french braid, starting at the top of Keith’s head and drawing in the too-long bangs as well, plaiting downwards and finally fastening the end with the red ribbon Keith hands him._

_Lance ties it off in a bow and rests his hand where back meets neck. “There! All pretty and ready to go.”_

_Keith twists at the waist to turn around. “Thanks,” he says, and there’s a dusting of pink across his cheekbones._

_“No problem,” Lance grins, and notices how close their faces are. He stands up quickly. “Let it be known that Lancey-Lance is the best braider in all the land—”_

_He lets out a shriek as he falls four feet down and lands on his ass. Keith’s head pops over from the top of Black’s paw, eyes wide, and when he sees that Lance is okay he lets out a peal of laughter._

_It’s the first laugh Lance has heard from Keith in days, and the hardest he’s heard in weeks. It’s also possibly the most full bodied and genuine laugh Lance has heard from him at all, deep from the gut and gasping. Keith’s eyes are shut tight and he’s gripping the curved edge where he’s leaning, head bowed and shoulders shaking._

_Lance can’t stop staring._

* * *

 

“Hello?” Lance answers the phone with uncertainty. Normally he wouldn't pick up on unknown numbers, but it might be someone at the publishing house. His book is officially out as of last week after all, and he’d done a little interview with the local news channel the day of for publicity. He’s been getting more offers now that people realized a former Paladin of Voltron released a book about his adventures in space. 

“Oh my god, Lance,” the person exclaims, and even after two years Lance would recognize Hunk’s voice anywhere. “You didn’t tell me you wrote a book!”

 Lance lets out a chuckle. “Good to hear from you too, buddy.”

“Nuh, uh, you don’t get to do that, with all those _pleasantries_ now. You haven’t talked to us in years!”

“Us?”

There’s a muffled sound and then the voice from the phone changes. “Pidge here. When the hell did you write a book?” She doesn’t sound angry, just confused and really loud. Marco gives him a sour look from the armchair and proceeds to leave the room with his guitar.

“Surprise?” Lance isn’t really sure what to say. How is one supposed to tell his old friends that he withdrew from them for two years because he was mentally in a bad place due to the passing of one of his closest relatives, when he hadn’t even been able to tell them that before?

“One hell of a surprise.” Pidge sounds miffed but she drops it, and there's another shuffling sound before two voices come in and Lance realizes he’s on speakerphone.

“What are you guys doing together,” Lance asks.

“Making new sonar imaging tech for the Garrison,” Hunk replies, just as Pidge goes “Shay’s visiting and I wanted to make fun of Hunk.”

“Hey!” 

Lance laughs, and sits down in the now empty chair. He can imagine Hunk’s face, all embarrassed and pouty. Shay must be working with the Garrison now, if she’d making the long trips back and forth from her Balmera to Earth. “Sounds about right. So you’ve been keeping in touch these past couple of years?”

“Why wouldn’t we,” Pidge says, not quite accusatory.

“What about the others?” 

“We talk to Allura like every week, and we visited Shiro and Adam for dinner yesterday. Keith’s wherever but we call at least once a month.” Pidge pauses, then ventures hesitantly. “Didn’t expect that you’d be the only one who didn’t keep in contact.”

Lance doesn’t reply for moment. “You and me both, I guess. Just had some personal stuff going on.”

If it had been before out in space, he would’ve expected a snarky reply, Pidge pointing out “for two years?” in a jab. But now she stays silent.

“We can go now,” Hunk says, speaking up after being silent for a while. “If you’d rather not talk, we won’t force you. Sorry for calling you out of the blue like this.” 

“No!” Lance is surprised by the force of his own voice. “It’s fine. I want to talk with you guys.” 

Lance can hear the grin in Hunk’s voice. “Oh, thank god. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you for any longer.”

He pulls his legs up under him and curls into the armrest. “I missed you too, guys.”

* * *

 

_Lance is bored._

_Allura is helping build sincline ships with Lotor, Hunk and Pidge are off doing techy things with Matt, and god only knows where Coran is. Lance kept failing the same shitty level on Killbot Phantasm over and over again so now he’s sitting in the lounge, watching the mice jump hurdles over each other. Chuchule is climbing over Platt for the fourth time when Lance loses it._

_This is fucking numbing. “Aaugh!” He yells, and stands up from the couch._

_“Quiznak!” Lance spins to find Coran clutching his heart. “What’s the matter with you number three, you almost gave me a colon attack!”_

_Lance winces. “Didn’t see ya’ there Coran. And nothing's the matter with me I’m just…. bored and stuff, ya’ know?” He sighs. “Like frustrated and stuff. Everyone’s off doing their own things so now I’m just… alone.”_

_“Oh,” Coran says, far more sympathetic than previously. “I see the problem. You miss Keith, don’t you?”_

_Lance blinks. It’s true that there’s one less person on board to hang out with, and he doesn’t have anyone who’d stoop down to the same level to have a food goo eating competition with him anymore, but it’s not like that’s the only reason he’s feeling frustrated._

_“It’s understandable, really,” Coran bulldozes on, quite dramatically. “I know what you two had before all this, and how you felt about him. Thought you were waiting for Keith while he was miserable, but even after Shiro came back, you never really sealed the deal, did you? Why was that? Lance? Heeeelloooo? Are you alri—”_

_Lance snaps out of his frozen state and lets out an unintelligible sound._

_“Well_ that _couldn’t have been good, is your stomach feeling okay—”_

_“Wait, wait, Coran, hold the phone, back the fuck up here with me for a second, okay,” Lance exclaims, holding his hands up. “I never? Liked Keith like that? We weren’t together or anything?”_

_“Well, of course not, I was just asking why you weren’t together after all!” Coran looks exasperated, like Lance is the one not making sense in this situation. “But you definitely had to have liked him at some point, with the way you were both flirting constantly!”_

_Lance is confused for a moment (since when did he and Keith_ flirt _) but then realizes what Coran’s talking about. “That wasn’t flirting,” Lance says, “It was rivalry. Rye-vuhl-ree.”_

_Coran huffs. “Maybe you don’t like Keith anymore,” he says, picking up the mice and gathering them into his arms. “But you definitely did at some point.” Lance scoffs. “Flirting!” Coran calls out as the door closes behind him, trying to get in the last word._

_“Was. Not,” Lance yells at the empty room, and falls back down onto the couch. What the hell even was that. Coran’s gone insane, he needs to sleep more. Lance rolls his eyes and reaches to pick up the remote from the table, turning on the holo-screen. That was the weirdest argument he ever had. He doesn’t even like guys anyway. Now he’s feeling even more frustrated than before, ugh._

_Two nights later, Lance wakes up in a cold sweat. “Holy shit,” he says to his ceiling. “I used to like Keith.”_

* * *

 

The world is cast in gray-blue and his footsteps pound in time with the rain. Were it any other day, Lance would have been delighted to just stroll through the storm, enjoying the feeling of it on his skin, but he has a book signing he needs to be at later today and he’s wearing his good button-down now.

 _Come on, come on,_ he thinks, scanning the storefronts as he weaves around people on the sidewalk. New York is a menace to anyone but locals, and trying to find a single bookstore is nigh impossible in this rain. His phone beeps in hand, but the GPS is kind of screwed with how crowded the shops in this part of the city are. _Aha!_ Finally, a red and brown facade comes into view.

Lance ducks under the striped awning and makes his way inside, a little bell ringing and following him in. The place is bigger than it looked from the outside, with a small cafe in one corner and towering bookshelves in another. The lady at the cash register takes one look at him and hurries over.

“Mr. Espinosa-McClain! We weren’t expecting you yet, the area isn’t completely set up—” 

“No, no, it’s fine,” he interrupts her, because he's definitely four or five hours early. “I’m just here to check the place out, maybe even get a book or two, you know? Plus you can just call me Lance, I’m not that old yet.”

The lady— her name tag says Sally— relaxes and laughs politely at his quip. She offers to lead him to where they’ll be setting up the event soon, so he doesn’t get lost when he comes back at a later time. Lance agrees, and stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets. The rain combined with the autumn chill is getting to him; Cuba and Arizona and the Castleship were all warm. 

They wind through the different bookshelves, ending between the sections for nonfiction and children’s books. There’s a little clearing here, with a few plush chairs and some people minding their own business. Sally gets called back to the register by another employee, and she leaves Lance to look around.

There’s a little table set between the two shelves, and one of them was cleared out and replaced with copies of his own book. It’s weird being here, seeing this as something real and tangible. Knowing that yes, others have actually read this, have read his thoughts and feelings to an intimate degree. It’s a little scary to think that, but not nearly as scary as not having this out in the world, not nearly as much as being unable to say “I’ve been here”. This is for his grandfather, but it’s also for him. He runs his finger over one of their spines, a small smile on his lips.

“Lance?”

He turns around, expected another employee, or someone early for the book signing. What he’s met with instead is Keith Kogane. 

His hair is longer now, tied back in a ponytail, and his jaw is sharper, older. But his eyes are still the same, dark and burning, and the scar marring one cheek remains unchanged. “I almost expected this to be a different Lance,” Keith continues, awkward, but there’s a tentative smile on his face.

“As if it could be anyone but the one and only,” Lance replies. He stuffs his hands back into his pockets so they don’t fidget. “What are you doing here?”

“To meet you, I guess.” It’s only then that Lance notices the book Keith’s holding: _his_ book. There’s some unnameable emotion which floods through him, takes the breath from his lungs. At first he thinks it’s panic, at being exposed so thoroughly to Keith of all people, but he doesn’t feel uncomfortable or scared.

“You— read it?” 

Keith shifts on his feet, breaks eye contact. “Well, yeah. It’s not everyday one of the Paladins of Voltron releases a book, chronicling his adventures in space through poetry.”

“You got that from an article,” Lance says, and finally grins. It’s surprisingly easy to fall back into banter like this, as though it’s their natural state. It’s always been far too easy to let them fall into step together. Keith and Lance, neck and neck, back to back. He takes a hand out of his pocket and jerks his thumb back where he came from. “Wanna’ go get a drink? I just came in and it’s freezing outside.”

“It’s barely chilly.” Keith rolls his eyes but follows him anyway, shoulders set and looking far less awkward thanks to the invitation. 

Lance orders a coffee with too much cream and a milk tea, before walking to where Keith has claimed them a table next to the tall windows. “I still can’t believe you actually read this,” he says as he sits down. “You’re always all action and raring to go, didn’t think you’d have the patience to read a boring book of poems.” 

“It’s not boring,” Keith says, ignoring the lure meant to reel in an argument. “I didn’t know you could write like this. It’s… really good.”

“Thank you.” Lance might be beaming.

Keith looks off to the side, out the window at the passing crowd, like he can’t bear to keep staring at Lance unless it’s a glance out of the corner of his eye. His long bangs fall across his forehead like a dusting of charcoal. “I hadn’t even heard from you for two years, and then you just dropped this out of nowhere.” 

He wants to ask more, Lance can tell, ask what that was all about, but the table between them is a chasm. It’s been years since they’ve spoken, and while Lance still thinks of Keith as one of his best friends (because they’d been there for eachother out in space) how does that translate now on earth? If it’s been so long, can they even fit together at all, or have they changed and morphed so much their edges won’t click? Maybe they can banter, but soulful conversations may just be beyond reach. 

Lance’s name gets called, and he walks over to the counter without replying. By the time he gets back Keith has started folding a napkin back and forth, occupying his hands with something. He looks up when Lance sets a steaming cup in front of him.

“It’s milk tea,” Lance says, and slides into his chair.

“Thanks.” Keith takes a sip, and the corners of his mouth curl up. “I’m surprised you remembered. It’s not like we ever had the chance to get drinks up there.” 

“I make note of all my friends’ favorites.” Lance shrugs, and Keith only seems more pleased.

“ _Are_ we still friends?” 

Lance blows on his coffee. He wants to say yes, wants them to still be friends, or whatever what they had can be called. “Can we be,” he asks, quiet and watching the white steam float up from his cup in wisps and curls.

“Why not?” The tone is casual, but when Lance looks up at Keith he has an almost challenging expression, like he’s urging Lance on even now, daring him to answer. Defiant against any hesitation. A laugh bursts out, a geyser rushing up and exploding.

Keith splutters, watching as Lance sets his cup down and covers his mouth with his sleeve, giggling. “Stop laughing,” he all but whines, and his ears are red.

“Sorry, sorry,” Lance gasps out, bubbling mirth fading. Then, because even they don’t quite know what to do with each other, he still knows that Keith’s reverted back to their rivalry days in an effort to communicate; because Lance’s hesitance sparked worry that this would be the end, he continues. “This doesn’t have to be a competition, you know. Let's be friends.” 

“Oh,” Keith says, “okay.” 

“I bet I wanna’ be friends more than you do.” Lance smirks at the flat look he gets in response.

“I’d highly doubt that.” Keith leans back in his chair and brings his tea up to his mouth. His foot knocks against Lance’s when he stretches out.

“Aren’t we confident,” Lance says, and stretches out his legs too, boxing Keith’s in. Their knees brush against each other.

They chat for a bit, and to Lance’s surprise, Keith willingly starts telling him about what he’s been doing these past two years. While Shiro and Adam were on their honeymoon, he took Krolia and Kosmo to go around Arizona, visiting his favorite places. After the newlyweds got back, the five all travelled together for a bit, as a family, visiting Disney World (at Keith’s request, since he never got to go as a child), Belgium (at Adam’s, because Belge chocolate), and Mount Everest (at Shiro’s and Krolia’s, because they wanted to see who could climb to the top first, which is perfectly ridiculous). Evidently, Garrison skymiles are worth their value. That, and Galran War veteran’s discounts.

Adam’s paid and unpaid vacation days ended eventually, and he and Shiro built a home together within transport distance to the Garrison. This past year it had been Keith, his mother, and his wolf, just visiting different places for a week or so every couple months. They’ll be here in New York City, New York for three more days.

When it’s his turn Lance just tells Keith that he’s been resting with his family, and writing this book. He recalls stories about Marco and Rachel and his niblings, partly because he loves talking about his family, and partly because he wants to fill the space. The dedication in his book is for his late grandfather, and if Keith read it then he should’ve realized enough.

As it turns out, Keith doesn’t push Lance any further, and eventually his phone rings. He gets up to answer it then returns a few minutes later.

“It’s Krolia,” he says. “Kosmo’s been whining and I need get back and give him a bath so we can still make our show.”

“Your show?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. Krolia wanted to watch a Broadway musical, so we’re going tonight.” Keith says it so casually that it takes a moment for Lance to process the words. 

“You’re going to see Broadway,” Lance exclaims, trying to put as much incredulousness into his voice as he can while stay remaining at an acceptable bookstore level of volume. “What the hell man, that’s so unfair!” 

Keith lets out a startled laugh. “I’ll take you with me next time, if you want to go so bad.”

“‘Next time’, he says! Bold of you to assume they’ll ever be a next time!”

“I can’t tell if you’re talking about the musical or about seeing you,” Keith says, grinning. “But I’d take you over a musical any day.” 

Lance can’t believe his ears. That’s kind of the smoothest thing he’s heard in, well, forever. “Too bad. You’ll need tickets if you’re ever going to see me again.”

“Guess I’ll have to go get them then. How about we arrange the details back here, tomorrow at one?”

“You better have your finances sorted out by then, Kogane,” Lance says, and stands up too. He starts walking back towards the clearing where his signing is going to be, and figures he’ll sign Keith’s copy tomorrow. “Don’t be late!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

* * *

 

 _“Hey,” Keith says, coming up to him. “Can I ride with you? I want to give Shiro some time alone with Black.”_  

_“Yeah, of course,” Lance says immediately, and leads him up the ramp into Red’s yawning mouth. Now that Shiro’s back for real, there’s one paladin too many again, and so Keith and his brother have been taking turns flying Black the past week. It hasn’t affected how Allura and Lance have been flying lions yet, but Lance knows he’ll have to give up Red eventually, and be the odd one out._

_Keith smiles in thanks and then ruffles Kosmo’s ears, watching her follow Krolia to Yellow._  

_Lance lingers at the entrance to Red’s cockpit, and Keith shoots him a vaguely confused glance before walking inside first. Lance expects him to hover around the pilot seat until Lance offers it up, but instead Keith makes for the back and pulls some pillows and blankets out from storage. He makes himself comfortable, leaning against the wall a few feet from the chair._

_Lance awkwardly makes his way into the seat, more than a little surprised._

_Once he guides Red up into the air, Hunks voice comes over the intercon, talking about the new roadtrip game Romelle taught him. The others agree to play, but Shiro politely declines and cuts the transmission to relax. They run through a few games, and even hit “I Spy” while they pass a more cluttered sector of space. Coran is very adamant about one of the nebulas they find being shaped like a Yelmor, and no one but the other Alteans can argue with it._  

_Eventually, they tire out, and Yellow’s line cuts out so that Krolia can take a nap. Pidge and Allura get into a debate about the way the Lions’ fuel system works, so Lance figures now’s the time to leave before things get dicey._

_He lets Red fly on autopilot and walks over to Keith, then nudges him with his foot. “Scoot over, I want a pillow too.”_

_Keith obliges, and Lance settles in with about a foot between them. He’s a touchy person, especially around his friends, but Keith has never been one for too much physical contact. Plus, even though he doesn’t have a crush on the boy anymore, he feels like he’s betraying Allura if he were to cuddle up to the other._

_“So,” Keith starts, clearing his throat. “You and Allura, huh?”_

  _Lance wonders when he started reading minds. “Sort of, I guess? I haven’t even asked her out or anything, and she probably doesn’t like me back anyway.”_

_Keith snorts. “That’s ridiculous.”_

_Lance levels him with a flat look. “Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence man.”_

_“What’s ridiculous is the idea that she doesn’t like you,” Keith clarifies, and when he speaks again there’s something indecipherable in his tone. “Allura looks at you like you hung the moon.”_

_“Oh.” Lance shifts, trying to get comfortable on the metal floor. He clutches his pillow to his chest and lets out a little chuckle. “Are you sure you aren’t mistaking me for someone else.”_

_Keith frowns and turns to face him, leaning one shoulder against the cockpit wall. “Why are you so averse to her having feelings for you.” And when Lance looks away instead of answering, “you do like her, right?”_

_“A lot,” Lance mumbles, and Keith tenses in front of him. “But….”_

_“But what?”_

_The words struggle on their way out of him, get trapped in his esophagus, twisting and morphing and slipping back down. He doesn’t know how to say it, is a little bit scared to admit it. “I don’t know, I just…. Why would anyone like me, you know, Lance is always loud and annoying and dumb.” He tries to laugh it off, but there’s a small distressed sound that comes from beside him._

_Keith grabs his shoulders and forces Lance to look at him._

_“You’re not dumb,” he says. “And your not annoying, and even when you are it’s not bad. And yeah, you’re loud but that’s not even a bad thing, you’re not obnoxious. I know this probably won't— won’t change your mind or anything, if you’ve thought this for a while. And I’m sorry if you have and I didn’t realize it sooner. But you’re not annoying or bad or anything, you’re_ fine _, Lance, you’re fine just the way you are. And I know it’s just my opinion, but I don’t know how anyone_ couldn’t _like you.”_  

_Throughout it all, Lance is silent, dumbstruck, just staring. Mystified at the outburst from someone who has so much trouble expressing himself normally, by the fact that someone would say this at all. And so by the end of his speech, Keith starts to lose fire, becomes awkward when Lance doesn’t do anything, and tries to pull away. Lance grabs hold of his wrists._

_“Thanks.” His voice cracks. “I— I don’t—” He drops Keith’s arms and rubs his face on the back of his hand._

_“You might not believe me, but it’s true.” Keith’s voice is quieter, but doesn’t waver._

_Lance rubs harder._

_Keith leans forward tentatively, hands fluttering in the space between them, before finally pulling the other in for a stiff hug. Lance wraps his arms back around him and presses close, taking in the warmth and comfort. Pillows and blankets and Keith surround him, envelope him. It’s like sitting in front of a hearth, letting everything else melt away; Keith really does feel like the true red paladin._  

_“You’re very passionate about me scoring a date,” Lance jokes, because that’s what he always does in tense situations, but the watery huff of air he breathes out doesn’t quite qualify as a laugh._

_When Keith pulls back his expression is carefully blank. “Allura deserves you,” he says, “and you deserve her.”_

* * *

 

Lance helps set up for the signing, still thinking about Keith. Thinking about the confidence he held himself with, about the easy way he smiled and talked about himself, about how his shoulders stretched the material of his ratty leather jacket. Lance thinks about Keith as he moves book carts, as he wanders around the city buying souvenirs, as he takes the metro back to pick up Rachel from their shared hotel room and all the way back to the bookstore.

The only time he isn’t thinking about Keith, really, is at the signing. He greets each of the people who read his book with all his attention, shaking hands and accepting their “thank you”s for protecting Earth as a Paladin. He makes small talk and they tell him about how much this book means to them, whether it’s about describing the vastness of space and making them want to go out there, or about describing how much he missed and adores Earth, and how it helped them feel better while they were studying abroad away from home. He listens intently to the teenage girl who approaches him shyly and alone, thanking him for showing her that someone who saved the universe is actually bisexual, that he wrote it into his book. Lance holds in tears and hugs her.

The Garrison helped fight against the Galra invading Earth, yes, but they are also the main military power in America; somehow, all the articles about him and the others, even ones mentioning Shiro’s fiancé, neglected to mention how none of them are cishet. He’s happy to be home, but that sort of thing makes him miss outer space, where no one in their big, hollow Castleship ever cared about that. 

He turns to Rachel on the ride home after the signing is over. “Do you think,” he asks, leaning in close so the other subway passengers don’t overhear. “That Abuelo would be okay with me, being, you know.”

“Bisexual?”

Lance flushes, then hates that he won’t even say it aloud in this train of complete strangers. He’s known who he is for years, just had a kid thank him for being open about it. “Bisexual,” he repeats, stronger.

Rachel shrugs. “I don’t think he’d give a shit. He didn’t care when Mami married some random bastard from three towns over, so I think he’d be okay with anyone as long as you’re happy.”

Lance nods, tries not to let the relief show. “Nice.” He clears his throat, awkward, and she attempts to stifle a smile. 

They stop by Time Square and take a bunch of selfies, making duck lips and stupid faces. Lance takes some instagram worthy photos after that, of Rachel looking off to the side while the wind blows her curls all around her, the bright lights of the street shining behind her. Lance isn’t really using any social media anymore so, instead of offering to take pictures of him, Rachel buys him a blueberry pastry from this cute bakery they find 

By the time Lance gets home he’s exhausted, and falls face first onto his bed without even taking off his jacket. Rachels takes off her earrings and sets them on the little vanity nearby before going into the bathroom to change clothes. Lance groans and sits up, about to change into his pajamas too when his eyes catch on the firetruck red earrings a foot from his face.

Like clockwork, his thoughts return to Keith. Keith, who might be back home from his show by now, and also laying tired in bed. Krolia is probably scolding him before he falls asleep in an uncomfortable position, while Kosmo is probably settling in on top of Keith and pinning him down. Lance can practically hear Keith laughing as Kosmo licks his face and Krolia shakes her head.

They’re meeting tomorrow at one o’clock, the same bookstore’s cafe. Thirteen hours from now. Lance feels all tingly, and his heart jumps at the memory of Keith’s smile. He covers his face with his hands once he realizes what’s happening.

 _You can’t have a crush on Keith again_ , he berates himself. _You’ve literally already been down that path, that’s so unoriginal._

“What’s the matter with you?”

Lance looks up to see Rachel walking over to her own bed, hair up and wearing a t-shirt and leggings.. “Nothing,” he yelps, embarrassed, and rushes into the now empty bathroom. He tries to avoid thinking about Keith while he does his nightly face routine and slips into some sweatpants, but by the time the lights are off and he’s in bed his thoughts inevitably slither back to the man.

By the time Lance wakes up, he’s still tired _and_ has morning wood. Fantastic. 

Rachel throws a pillow at him. “Rise and shine, sleeping beauty. There are still stores I wanna visit and if we don’t eat soon you’ll miss your date.” 

“It’s not a date,” Lance grumbles, but still goes to shower and get ready a bit quicker than normal. 

They have a brunch full of sweet scones and syrupy pancakes and fruit, the kind that would make Marco fake-gag if he were here, then set off. Rachel visits this antique store full of vintage fashion and cool knick knacks that her long-distance boyfriend told her about, and Lance ends up buying some opera glasses to send to Arizona and make fun of Veronica’s eyesight with. They check out another place that sells only cute stationary, and at a quarter till one Lance leaves Rachel to go get her watch’s battery changed. 

The metro gets delayed and he’s running late, and that’s the moment Lance realizes he doesn’t have Keith’s number. “Shit,” he hisses out loud, and a woman pointedly covers her son’s ears from next to him. By the time Lance makes it to the store he’s out of breath and almost 15 minutes late.

“You came,” Keith says, visibly relieved.

“I’m really sorry,” he starts, sliding into his chair. “The trains get delayed and I don’t have your number so I couldn't tell you or anything— Is that for me?”

Keith slides the steaming cup to him.

“Oh my god, I love you so much man, I totally don’t deserve this after making you think I wouldn’t come.” Lance brings it up to his lips and just breathes in the smell of coffee.

“You’re fine,” Keith assures, though he looks a bit flustered now. “So, what’ve you been doing?”

Lance recites what he and Rachel had done the previous night and this morning, and then urges Keith to tell him about how the musical went last night.

Keith winces. “Honestly? Could have been better.” Kosmo had been aggressively confused about the whole ordeal and kept whimpering whenever they tried to leave him. They didn’t completely botch an attempt at sneaking him into the theatre, but it ultimately failed since the wolf wouldn’t be quiet no matter how much Keith tried to calm him down. Just as they were about to get kicked off the premises, Keith had teleported out with the wolf, leaving Krolia a bit stranded. He’d texted her to stay and enjoy the night, since she’d been the one who’d wanted to go anyway, and though she’d been angry with him initially the actual show softened her. Keith and Kosmo had instead just wandered around central park.

“You’ll have to leave Kosmo behind when we go to ours. I wouldn't be happy getting kicked out or having to watch it alone.”

“Duly noted.”

They talk about Lance next, or more specifically, Keith asks about his poems. It’s awkward talking about them at first, but eventually Lance gets more comfortable. Keith’s favorite is apparently the one about home, describing a longing for a place to fit in. Lance isn’t exactly sure what that says about the both of them, but it's nice to connect like this. They discuss the one about Blue for a bit, then the way the Galra colonized planets, then his poem describing his first love. “That one’s about Allura.” 

“I figured as much.” Keith’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and is crooked, a half slant on one side, covered by his cup. He sets the tea down. “I’m going to get dessert, do you want something too?”

“Sure, this place has a bunch of different things available, right,” Lancs says, remembering the menu from yesterday.

Keith nods. “Do you want to share? We could get more types of deserts that way.”

“That’d be cool.” Lance is a little surprised by how easily Keith suggested it. While he’s used to doing things like sharing food with Hunk all the time, it seems like something just a bit too affectionate and intimate for Keith’s taste. Who knows, maybe Keith does this all the time with whatever new friends he made over the past couple of years.

 Keith returns from the counter holding a plastic tray with exactly six assorted desserts, from slices of cake to crepes, and Lance sets about divvying them up with the knife and fork they were given.

There’s one with a waffle cone that’s difficult to cut up, and Keith snorts at Lance’s failed attempt to cut an even line, murmuring something about how he can’t do anything straight. His face heats up in embarrassment, but it’s not like he has anything to retort. Instead, Lance steals fruit from all the sweets that have them, grinning slyly at the other’s offended look, and eats them gleefully. When they reach the chocolate cake though, Keith’s eyes light up once the fork touches his mouth, looking so purely happy that Lance practically melts and slides the last of his half over. 

By the time they finish it’s getting late enough that Lance already has ten too many texts from Rachel. “I should leave soon,” he says, “our flight back home is at, like, four tomorrow morning.

“Right,” Keith says, and is doing a surprisingly poor job of hiding his disappointment. “I’ll see you around, then?”

 Lance nods, then just as he’s about to leave, realizes his mistake. “Give me your phone.”

“What,” Keith starts, then realizes what he means. “Oh. _Oh._ One second.” He fumbles in his jacket pocket for a moment, the drops it in Lance’s hands, who makes a new contact.

 _“One Hot Piece of Ass”_ he types into the name section, then adds water squirt and tongue emojis for effect.

Lance grins, locks the phone, and places it face down on the table. “See ya’ later,” he says, and practically books it out of the store. He finally checks his own phone when he’s on the subway heading back to his hotel, and as expected, there’s a text waiting for him.

“ _Good to know you’re still the absolute worst_.” 

“ _It’s my brand_ ,” he writes back, then goes to add Keith to his contacts. Then, after a moment of hesitation, adds a red heart because irony.

* * *

 

_Lance wakes up not even realizing he fell asleep._

_Keith is curled up, leaning into the nook between Lance the wall and looking very peaceful, so getting up is something of a hassle. He successfully manages to maneuver a pillow in his place, but when Lance tries to extract himself, Keith’s head slips off his shoulder and swings down. Lance tries to shove his shoulder back in place, but the damage is done and Keith blinks awake, one hand coming up to rub at his neck._  

_“Sorry,” Lance whispers, and Keith just says something unintelligible, sleepily confused._

_Lance stands up then stretches, joints popping. He goes to check the lines between all the lions and sees that none are currently on. They’d only been asleep for around an hour and a half, and Lance realizes that what woke him up was Red’s rumbling in his mind. On the starmap, about 20 minutes away is an asteroid belt that they’ll all have to navigate through if they don’t want to get caught on any nearby Galra sonar._  

_There’s a pickling sensation in his gut at this, a nervous sort of dread. Lance walks into the back and grabs some pouches of juice, and starts to drink one. He tosses the other to Keith, who catches it perfectly even though he still looks half asleep._

_Keith squints, looking at nothing. “Is that…. Red?”_

_“What was it that gave it away, all the red lighting?”_

_Keith scowls at him. “No, I meant in my head.”_

_Well that… was expected, if not a bit disappointing. “We’re coming up on some asteroids,” Lance explains, trying to sound as unaffected as possible. “She probably wants you to fly her.”_

_Keith looks surprised. “Should I?”_

_Lance shrugs. “I’m not the one you should be asking. But considering your track record with meteors, probably.”_  

_It’s a compliment, even if lopsided, but it’s received with a frown. “I won’t fly her if you don’t want me to.”_

_“I’m not her keeper, Keith.” Lance finishes off his juice pouch, and crumples it up in his hand. Red and him don’t have that kind of connection, if what they had could even be called that in comparison to what Red and Keith have. He takes a breath then cracks a smile. “Just get in the goddamn robot, Shinji.”_

_Keith huffs, whether in exasperation or amusement is unknown, but finally gets up, kicking the blanket behind him and dropping into the pilot’s seat. Red purrs in both their minds and Keith stabs his straw into his juice pouch._

_“Don’t ruin the upholstery,” Lance calls, and Keith just loudly slurps while maintaining eye contact._

_“My city now, Espinosa-McClain,” he says, and even though it’s a joke, Lance still feels a pang in his chest. He appreciates everything that Keith said a couple hours ago, will remember for it a long time, but it doesn’t stop the ache in him. The least he can do is not be an asshole to the guy who comforted him though, so Lance goes into the back again to grab some freeze-dried berries._  

 _He tosses them individually at Keith (who successfully catches about half of them in his mouth) until they reach the belt. Keith leans forward in his chair, and the little black fruits roll off his shirt and lap onto the floor, which means Lance is going to have to sweep up the next time they land._  

_Keith leads Red in nice and easy, floats down onto the first asteroid, paws touching down so gently they can’t feel it. Then he takes off with so much force Lance has to hold the back of his chair. They rocket through space, weaving between asteroids, running across them and jumping off them, catapulting through until the night is just a blur of black and gray streaking by._

_Red roars in glee in their minds, and Lance whoops, taken in by the feeling. Keith is laughing, and when Lance leans over he can see the wild smile stretched over the other’s face. “Adrenaline junkie,” he yells, grinning._

_“Like you’re any better,” comes the reply, sounding perfectly gleeful._

_It’s over all too soon, the asteroids replaced with more emptiness, and Shiro radios them to wait until the others finish slowly navigating through. Keith sets Red down on the nearest, largest space rock, and lets gravity and metal claws stay them._

_“I missed that,” he says, voice quiet and a little rough. Lance walks over to sit on the now shut down dashboard. Keith’s smile is still in place, but it’s lessened, like his soul’s settled and calmer. He continues: “Just being able to go that fast and have that much fun, you know.”_

_“Yeah.” Lance toes a stray berry, watches it roll across the room. “I get it.” He does, he feels it through their Lion, the animal hunger and longing. He crushes another berry underfoot, pulls away to see the floor stained black. “Hey. You can take Red over now, okay?”_

_Keith’s eyebrows furrow. “You want to go back to Blue?”_  

_Lance ignores the question. “You’re both clearly happy together, and it’s the best match for the team. You beat everyone else, by, like, half an hour.”_

_Keith still looks hesitant, so Lance plasters a smile onto his face and lightens his tone._  

_“Seriously, you should watch yourselves. You two just click, like puzzle pieces or something. You’re her red paladin, guardian of flame and all that jazz. Honestly, watching you fly her was kind of amazing, and I’m not just saying that.” He isn’t, and the truth of those words is what makes it so easy to say, and this conversation so much harder to have._

_“Oh.” Keith’s blushing now, face bright, and he looks off to the side. “Thanks. You and Blue are pretty perfect together too.” Whether it’s an attempt to change the subject or return the compliment, Lance doesn’t know, but it’s not like that matters much._

_He laughs, but can’t put much heart into it. “That’s sweet, but I think I’ll let Allura handle it. She’s the better paladin, and anyway it’ll get me home faster.”_  

_“You’re a good paladin too,” Keith says. “If the numbers are the problem, then we can all take turns between Lions, like me and Shiro have been doing. It doesn’t even matter that much, and then you and Allura can get some time together in Blue.”_

_“Yeah, that’s not it.” Lance feels kind of pathetic, like since he had one mental breakdown today and he’s about to have another he’s just losing it. He’s unravelling in the home stretch, kept it together for years but can’t even hold it in until Earth. “She rejected me, Keith.”_

_“Who? Allura,” he asks, looking surprised._  

_“No, Blue. Back when we first fought Lotor, remember how I couldn’t get out at first? Blue rejected me.” Lance crosses his arms, crosses his ankles so he doesn’t swing his legs. “It’s not even like, like she was waiting for Red to call me or for Allura to come. She even had her shield up and— I could feel it in my mind, like whenever I tried to reach out there was nothing there. And even when I visited her after the battle I couldn’t feel her again. We’re not connected anymore, Keith.”_

_Keith is silent for a moment, looks almost stricken, then swivels in the pilot chair to face Lance, hands gripping the armrests. “When I first flew Black,” he begins, softly and slowly, like he’s handling something fragile which he can crack with his voice alone if he’s not careful, “I couldn’t hear anything either. It was like this great big silence. Back then I was terrified, and angry, and didn’t want any of it, so I think I liked that. It made me get lost in my own thoughts, but I wanted the silence. When I got back from the Abyss and had to fly Black again, I wasn’t scared anymore; I just wanted to get to Shiro, wherever he was. So I just sort of… reached out. Let Black in._

_“I’m not trying to make this about me, but I think I know what you mean. I think maybe you’re scared too. Maybe of Blue rejecting you again, and that’s what’s keeping the silence being so…. Silent? I don’t think you need to stop being scared, but just try and reach out again. One more time?” He tilts his head as he says it, like he’s asking a question, a little plea, like a loved one asking “_ one more time, just for me”.

Reach out _, Lance thinks, ponders, muses. Blue is an entire asteroid belt away from him,_ just _an asteroid belt away from him in this infinite ocean of the cosmos. She’s right there, like some deity, cold and icy and distant and right there. It occurs to him that Keith is right. That sometime in this past year, the comfort and feeling of home he felt around Blue had morphed into something else: terror at the idea of being rejected, told he was not the one, again and again._

 _He still loves her, admires her, holds her dear in his heart, but there’s a rushing river blocking the path between them both. A current of fear._ This is it _, he thinks, this is the culmination of all his flaws. And all he needs to do, to cross that river, maybe jump into that river, is reach out._

* * *

 

“So, what are you guys doing for Christmas this year. You celebrate, right?”

“Yeah,” Keith confirms, nodding. His image is a little blurry through the tablet screen, face washed out by the desk lamp next to him. Lance leans back against the glass door, shifts against the cool concrete steps since his bottom is getting kind of numb. He’s wrapping and unwrapping his headphone cord around his finger, smiling sleepily, and likely looks like a schoolkid with a crush, but it’s dark enough outside and he’s backlit enough by the kitchen lights that Keith probably can’t tell.

“We’ll go back and visit Shiro and Adam,” he says, because he’s in Oregon now due to a love of _Twin Peaks_. “Last year we had Acxa with us too, but I doubt that’ll happen again.” The corner of his mouth quirks up, like the two of them are sharing an inside joke through the screen, but Lance is only confused.

“What do you mean? Does she have something going on?”

“You didn’t hear it from me, but she asked me about human courting traditions a while back.” When he just continues staring, Keith rolls his eyes. “She’s going to propose, Lance.”

 _Holy shit._ “Holy shit,” Lance says. “Who’s the lucky person.”

Now it’s Keith’s turn to give him a confused look. “Veronica? You know, your sister? Who she’s been dating for two whole years?” Keith eventually realizes what’s going on and blanches. “Oh my god. She didn’t tell you. She didn’t tell you guys yet.”

After a moment of the world spinning all around him, Lance finally manages to croak out, “Veronica lesbian?”

Keith bursts into nervous laughter. “Fuck,” he gasps out. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I’m laughing this isn’t even funny, I just— I just outed her oh fuck.” The giggles end almost as abruptly as they started. “Fuck fuck fuck, shit.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Lance decides. “One gay to another.” Keith lets out another inappropriate snort and immediately covers his mouth with his hands. “You know, this is the most I’ve ever heard you ramble.”

“I’m terrible,” Keith replies. 

“You’re not, you didn’t even know.” Lance tries to smile. “So I guess Acxa’s going to be coming over to Varadero in a month. Why not make it a party?”

“I can’t tell if you’re being serious,” Keith says, still sounding a tad bit miserable.

“Oh, deadly.” Lance’s grin turns more sincere. “I’m inviting you, your mother, and your dads over for Christmas man, take it. If you want to, I mean.”

“Shiro and Adam aren’t my dads,” Keith says, but he looks brighter. “And I do want to. I’ll bring it up first thing tomorrow.”

Lance beams. “Great! Nice. Cool, cool. Awesome.”

It’s hard to tell through the tablet, but Keith looks almost fond. “Yeah,” he says. “Awesome.”

* * *

 

It turns out Lance doesn’t need to ask talk to Veronica. The very next day she video calls them all during breakfast and tells them she’s getting married. Rachel is delighted, Marco is surprised and wants to know why the hell Lance isn’t, Papi is choking on his coffee and Mami just wants to know if he’s a good man. When she finds out Veronica is actually marrying a woman, their mother, all credits to her, just repeats her question with one swapped word. All in all, it could have gone worse.

They’ve scheduled the wedding during pride month, and Lance gets put in charge of decorations. “I want lesbian flag stuff everywhere,” Veronica says, and Lance promises to try his best in doing so only until the limits of not making the venue look tacky. Speaking of the venue, it’s going to be in Cuba of course, though at a small resort on the church end of Varadero. The destination means sending out invitations early so everyone can book a flight.

He calls Keith again that night, informing of everything only to find that Acxa had already texted him. Lance spends the next month or so like that, and a feeling of deja-vu settles near permanently all over his chest. Shiro and Adam’s wedding had been a blurry haze, he can barely remember it with the pain of losing his grandfather misted over every event, but this feels like a do-over. Lance gets to help organize an event of love with a clearer mind, holding his Abuelo’s memories, poems, his own poems close inside his chest to smother the sting.

So Lance calls the local resort and reserves the event hall for a few days, reserves rooms for even more days, and has Keith help him organize all the attendees into groups for said rooms and his house, because even though the wedding is months away he’s excited as all hell. He visits the event hall along with his parents and videos Veronica and Acxa to give them a tour of the area. Lance meets with Marco about having some of his friends and him perform at the wedding, and gives them different pieces to choose from, going over them with the brides. It’s december and he wishes Pidge a happy Chanukah, talks to Allura, Romelle and Coran about the wedding, goes out to buy all his Christmas gifts. 

Keith and his family fly in on the 21st are set to leave on the morning of the 27th. Lance picks them up from the airport along with Rachel, and sets about placing their suitcases in her jeep. When Lance turns around he’s face to face with Keith, who’s previously been practically carrying Kosmo. His jacket is gone now, shucked off due to the heat, and some of his long, black hair has escaped from his bun, strands waving gently in the breeze. The afternoon sunlight makes his complexion look amazing for someone who's just been in an airplane for 4 hours.

“Hey,” he says, smiling gently.

Lance can’t help but mirror his expression. “Hey yourself.” 

They hadn’t done much but orbit each other like binary stars since Keith got here, but the sudden proximity and breathless greetings break any barriers. Finally, they crash together, arms around backs and waists, just clutching close for a moment’s reprieve. It’s been over two years since Lance has touched Keith, and he didn’t know how starved he was for it until now. His body, craving it, finally settles, savoring the warmth of the moment, a giddy flower unfurling in his chest. He feels comfortable like this, just wants to stay like this forever, let his knees buckle and just let himself fall into Keith. 

“I missed you,” he says, a murmur into the other’s hair. He can feel Keith’s sharp intake of breath against his own chest.

“I missed you too.”

Someone— Adam— clears their throat and the two seperate, though Lances fingertips linger on Keith’s arms. Krolia’s looking at Keith with an almost smug expression.

“Mom’s making lunch right now, so we can eat when you guys get settled in,” Rachel says, climbing into the driver's seat. “And Veronica and Acxa got here yesterday, so you might have to share rooms with some of us.” 

Lance would normally call shotgun, but he just grabs Keith’s wrist and pulls him into the second row. Shiro and Adam squeeze into the back with them, and Krolia gets into the passenger seat, Kosmo teleporting onto her lap. When they pull out of the airport Keith recounts a story about the robot friend Pidge and Hunk had tried to make for the Holt’s family dog, but which had instead gone berserk. They finally caught it when it got stuck between the elbow and shoulder of Shiro’s levitating prosthetic. “The little devil practically ruined my arm,” Shiro complains.

Adam rolls his eyes. “You already ruin it; I have to take it in for repairs practically every month.”

“He likes to show off and open jars for Adam,” Keith explains, “but the arm rotates around out of the magnetic field and just falls down.”

By the time they get home Lance can smell the delicious aroma of lunch. He takes Keith’s luggage, sticking his tongue out at the insistence that the other can carry them himself, and leads him upstairs. “You can stay in Rachel’s and my room,” Lance says. “I’ll take the floor.” 

“It’s fine, I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.”

Lance places the carry-on and duffel in between his bed and the wall. “You slept in a cave on a space whale for four months, I think I can handle the floor for a few days.”

Keith frowns. “I don’t want to take your bed. Also that’s precisely why I'm okay with sleeping on the floor.”

“Just take the bed, Kogane, I don’t have cooties or anything, man.”

Keith bristles, then bites back, “If you had cooties I wouldn’t have let you hug me for ten minutes straight.” 

Lance narrows his eyes, then says, very slowly and clearly, “Nothing I ever do is straight.” 

Keith lets out a sharp sound that could be a snort or a startled laugh and brings his sleeve up to cover his mouth. “You’re terrible,” he says, trying to keep a level face, and Lance shrugs.

“It’s not like I’m lying. Also, you’re taking my bed.” 

Keith sighs, brings his arm back down. “Fine. I’m taking your bed.”

* * *

 

Most of his extended family arrives within the next couple of days, until their house is overstuffed beyond belief. Papi sleeps on the couch, Marco rolls underneath the coffee table by each morning, and little cousin Novia snores loudly from Rachel’s bed.

While the chaos is normal for him, he’s a little worried about Keith, who looks cornered whenever some distant relative tries to pull him into another conversation. While he goes out into the backyard with Acxa or Krolia frequently enough, he does play with the children a lot more than Lance had expected. Kosmo is a big hit, even if his Uncle Miguel is a bit concerned by the big wolf for the first few hours. 

Lance pulls him away to the little cove nearby every night after supper, without fail. It’s nice to just sit there and be together. They don’t really talk most of time, just float in the water. Keith will always get out first, sitting on his towel in the sand, Lance’s own towel wrapped around his shoulders, water plastering his hair to his face, back, and chest. Lance can feel his eyes on him, watching as he languidly swims, dives in to backflip and ride out any waves before resurfacing. Then he’ll get out once he feels a tugging in his chest, like a fishing line pulling him in towards Keith, who’ll stand and drop the towel on his head. 

It’s a rhythm, Keith mussing up his hair to dry it then going off to fetch their flip-flops from the surf, while Lance collects the towel still laying in the sand and shakes the it out. They walk back home, sandals squelching against the ground, and go around to the back of the house. About half the occupants are asleep by now, so Lance darts into the kitchen to grab a couple popsicles, one orange and one cherry, and they’ll sit together on the concrete steps and eat them together. Sticky juice runs down his hands and Keith laughs at him, and Lance feels 16 instead of 23.

* * *

 

_There is a booming, steady as a heartbeat and deafeningly loud, a vibrato that carries through the musty air and sends glass ornaments shattering, his legs wobbling, bones rattling in the shell of his body. He tries to breath but can’t, the air is so thick and filled with dust, with cries from the small child clutching at him._

_There’s someone in his arms and Lance calls for_ _Blue, yells for Blue._ Please, _he begs,_ I need you where are you _. A bullet pierces through the curtains flapping all around him, coating everything in red, the bullet shatters a windchime and it screeches in agony. The woman in his arms shudders violently, spasming in time with the beat of the explosions, in time with some symphony he can’t hear. Blood spills out, coating everything, the boy starts scratching at Lance, blunt nails breaking through the armor and tearing into him._

Blue _, he sobs,_ Blue please please please, help me _. His tears blur his vision, mix in with the blood on his hands. He bows his head, and even though he can’t even see any face, he knows that the person in his arms isn’t a woman, and he freezes because its his_ Abuelo _._

_“Lance,” his grandfather calls out to him, murky and distant. “Lance.”_

_Lance shakes his head violently, tries to shake off all of this, tries to shake off the explosions and the child and the woman and thoughts of Blue and the talking corpse cocooned in his arms._

_“Lance,” his grandfather says, louder and clearer, and Lance drops him, hands trembling and breaks_ through like he’s breaching for air. 

He stays, breathing uneven, gasping on his back, in a cold sweat. His vision clears, settles, and he’s in the dark, staring at the ceiling and up at Keith. _It was a dream_ , he thinks, he reminds himself. _It was just a dream, it’s fine._

“Lance,” he hears, and it’s Keith whispering, concerned. “You were having a nightmare, are you okay?”

He nods, because he doesn’t quite feel steady enough yet to say anything without the risk of his voice breaking.

“Okay,” Keith says, and then continues almost methodically. “Okay. Do you want a glass of water, or a change of sheets?”

Lance shakes his head, but kicks off the thin blanket he was using, left in only his t-shirt and basketball shorts. He turns his head and blindly reaches around for Keith’s hand, grips it tight to ground himself. “I’m fine,” he says finally, softly. And also, “sorry for waking you.”

Keith maneuvers his hand so he’s holding it properly, and squeezes. “You don’t have to apologize for this. Do you have nightmares often?” 

“Not as much as I used to. I had a pretty shit sleep schedule until last year,” he says, and quirks one corner of his mouth in something of a smile. Keith doesn’t look amused.

He rubs his thumb over Lance’s knuckles. “Whenever I had nightmares, Shiro would always sit with me until I fell back asleep. Do you want me to stay?”

“Yes, please.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

“I’d rather not,” Lance says, and sits up. He’s tired of not being over these things, after two and three and four years. Some distant part of him knows that you can’t simply get over these, forget how much what happened hurt him, scarred him, but that doesn’t mean he’s accepted it. Bullshit, that’s what all these nightmares are, the fact that he’ll still get them years out. He can’t just forget them though, so he just takes a deep breath and deals with whatever it is as it comes.

He moves around so his back is leaning against his bed, and Keith moves in next to him, their hands still linked. The little digital clock on his nightstand says it’s 3:02, and in the four foot gap between beds, Rachel and Novia are sleeping soundly. He’s glad the two are deep sleepers, because waking them both up (they who don’t know what it was like out there to fight a war no child is equipped to is like) would have resulted in far more panic and anxiety than he can handle at the moment.

His family is wonderful and caring, but sometimes their specific type of caring can feel smothering. So he sits here with Keith, loses himself in feeling of a thumb rubbing his knuckles gently, until he feels a yawn building in his chest.

“You should go to sleep,” Keith says, starting to untangle their hands. Like a reflex, his fingers only tighten around the other’s.

“Sorry.” he says, and hastily pulls away. Keith is much slower in standing up, staring at the spot where their hands had been only a moment ago. 

“You should take the bed,” he says, and when Lance starts to protest, “you’re the one who had the nightmare, just take it.” 

“I already said I’d to sleep on the floor, Keith,” he insists, “and if you do too then we’ll both end up on the floor.”

“Lance,” Keith says, tired. “Please sleep on the bed, I’m asking you this as a request from a guest.” He takes Lance by the shoulders and guides him over the bed, gently sitting him down. Lance stares up at him, and even though he should be feeling annoyed he just feels a heady content at be taken care of.

 “Fine,” he says, “but if I have to you do too.” He wraps his fingers around Keith’s wrist and pulls until the man falls face first into a pillow, because he’s just petty enough for it.

Keith doesn’t even look up, just lets out a muffled sigh, and Lance pats him on the head in satisfaction. He moves up and slides underneath the covers, and after a moment so does Keith, careful to stick close to the edge. Lance curls up beside him, and sets his own forehead against the other’s broad back. He falls asleep listening to Keith’s breathing.

* * *

 

Christmas day goes by in a blur of partying and rum, presents being passed out and Shiro and Adam getting caught under mistletoe and kissing. Veronica pulls Acxa in for a kiss too when she sees, just for the hell of it, and her fiancée blushes deep purple. There’s a humming low in his chest, and Lance knows then that some part of him wishes that were Keith and him under the mistletoe instead. He dances with Abuela while Marco sings, then trades off to balance Sylvio on his feet.

After dinner that night, almost everyone heads off either to sleep or into the family room to chat, and as per usual Lance pulls Keith away to the Varadero waters. By the time they get home, the house is near dark, and Lance runs upstairs quickly to grab something from under his bed. When he makes it back out, popsicles in hand, Keith is holding a gift wrapped object, thin and rectangular.

“Where the hell did that appear from,” Lance says, sitting down next to him.

Keith shrugs. “Same place that thing in your hand came from, I guess.”

Lance lets out a breathy laugh, and hands the small box over along with a popsicle. “You open mine first.”

 Keith lifts it up level with his eyes and examines it from all angles. “Small, a cube, suspiciously the size of a ring box. Are you proposing?”

“Oh no, my secret’s been found out.” Lance holds the back of his hand against his forehead, pretending to swoon. “Whatever will I do now?”

“Be happy that you’re getting married, then after a few years kill me for the life insurance and all my property.”

“I play the long con, in 60 years Kosmo and all your Garrison skymiles will me mine! Until then I’ll just use you for all the Broadway tickets, which we still haven’t done, by the way.”

“My bad, the lottery hasn’t been in my favor these past two months.”

“Seriously though, babe, unwrap the present already.” Lance realizes what he’s said a second too late and freezes, but luckily Keith seems to assume it was still a part of the act.

“Alright,” comes the reply, and Keith sticks his popsicle in his mouth to hold it while he opens the gift. He pops the lid off, and instead of a ring what awaits him are a dog tag necklace and a collar, a matching set for owner and space wolf. The pendants both read _“K. Kogane_ ”, and Keith looks up at him with wide eyes.

He carefully takes the popsicle out of his mouth, lips stained red. “This is the best thing I’ve ever gotten,” he says, stony faced and serious. “I know we were joking but if you asked me right now I would 100% marry you.”

Lance lets out a choked laugh. “Glad you like ‘em. Can’t believe I was worried that you’d think they were dumb, huh?” 

Keith shakes his head solemnly. “I could never.” Then, he carefully closes the lid and sets it aside, giving his own present to Lance. “I know it’s not much, but I hope you like it.” 

Lance places the gift in his lap and flashes a smile up at Keith, and carefully unwraps it. Inside is a notebook, blue cover soft and leathery, a gold buckle holding it closed. When he opens it the pages alternate between lined, dotted, gridded and blank.

“I don’t know if you already have somewhere else where you write all your poems,” Keith says, sounding a bit nervous. “But I saw this and thought of you.”

“Keith….” Lance breathes out the word, quiet and profoundly happy, and tucks the other into an embrace. Keith lets out a _whoosh_ of air, surprised, but melts into it. “Thank you,” Lance says. “It’s perfect.”

* * *

 

_Lance finally writes his poem about Keith._

_Because finally he knows what to say, because this thing they have right now, that fits into the spaces between their bodies, nebulous and made entirely by themselves, is new and different from anything before._

_He feels Keith against himself, solid and warm, the touch longing and grounding and always within reach. He hears Keith’s voice, deep and raspy and soft, sometimes nervous and sometimes bubbling with laughter, and lets himself just listen to it forever, likes hearing the cadence of it against his own, whispered over the sound of roving waves. He sees Keith, long hair disheveled and eyes so dark, face creased with pillow lines as he wakes up, thinks that he’s seeing this right now everyday, he can see it again if he wants to._

_There are some things he can’t do, like press his lips against lips, mouth against neck, hand against cheek or breath against breath. But that’s not what defines this thing, that holds and pulls them together, wraps around them and gets tangled until they can’t get untied. Lance wants, so desperately he can feel it pulsing inside his ribcage, knocking against his lungs and heart, he craves, but he’s also content._  

_To Lance, Keith is all brimstone and flame, like hot coals under his feet, urging him on and on and on, but also burning like the sun, a steady presence. He’s fireworks and candles, the heat winding through Varadero homes in summer, the warm sands of both his Sonoran desert and Lance’s beach. Keith is like Earth to Lance, in the same way rain and sea are, a constant now, in the way his memories of Cuba are, something he carries with him._

_Lance writes in the book Keith gave him, waits for Keith to wake up on his bed, sheets beside him mussed as has been normal of the past few nights, and writes. Lance writes about being in love._

* * *

 

“Oh, we had a tradition similar to that on Altea,” Coran says, “though we separated the spouses for as long as wedding preparations were being had.”

“No no no,” Hunk says, waving a hand in front of Lance’s face so the alteans can see the gesture through the screen. He almost swipes the straw from Lance’s mouth, and a little bit of his drink splatters onto the floor. Oh well. It’s not like the bar corridor could get any more sticky anyway. “Bachelor’s parties aren’t _meant_ to separate the spouses— spice? Speese?” 

Hunk turns to send Lance a questioning look, but the other just shrugs, jostling the phone he’s holding in one hand. “Anyway, they’re meant to just let each spouse enjoy their last nights of being not married, you know? Just usually celebrated with lots of alcohol and making jokes about how marriage traps you and… yeah. ”

Coran narrows his eyes and _hmmm’_ s through the screen, and Romelle picks her head up from Allura’s shoulder, the juniberry flower in her hair falling into her girlfriend’s lap. “Sounds sodomous,” she says.

Coran takes in a sharp gasp. Allura picks up the flower from her lap and adds “ _and_ sounds like adultery.” Coran stands in outrage and points to Romelle, who Allura is placing the flower back onto.

“You’re a horrible influence!” 

Lance buries his face in Hunk’s shoulder in an attempt to muffle his laugh, because then Coran will only get angrier and he doesn’t have the energy to listen to a lecture right now. He can feel the vibrations as Hunk tries not to burst as well. “No,” he says, once he’s finally composed himself. “There might be some sodomy for the guests, but I promise no adultery.”

“What about strippers?”

Lance and Hunk turn to find Keith, glass in hand and trying to look over their shoulders very curiously. The overhead lights from the dancefloor are leaking into the hallway, and purples and blues reflect off his eyes and hair just so. Lance is only on his second drink, but he thinks Keith looks so beautiful that there’s no way he’s sober.

“What _about_ strippers,” Hunk asks, so Keith clarifies. 

“Does that count as adultery?” He squeezes a hand between the two to wave at the alteans.

“Maybe,” Hunk says at the same time that Lance goes, “Dude, how long have you been listening in on us?”

Keith locks eyes with him. “I’m always listening.” The corner of his mouth twitches.

Hunk ignores the two of them with the skill of someone who’s used to it and continues on. “Doesn’t matter anyway, both Veronica and Acxa are here so it’s not like it separated them? It’s more like an excuse to party.”

“I see,” Allura says, and Coran points out how “oddly hedonistic” earthen culture is.

Coran then launches into an explanation about Altean separation customs and the religious meaning behind it. Lance isn’t exactly sure he’s following, because Coran keeps bringing up names that out of nowhere that he has no context for, but he nods along anyway. Someone walks into and down the hallway, and Hunk gets shoved into Keith who gets shoved into Lance who fumbles to keep hold of both the phone and his drink. Some still spills and splashes onto his shoes.

“Shit,” he says, looking very forlornly down.

“What happened,” Romelle asks. 

“I’ve lost my _raison d’etre_.”

Keith snorts. 

“It’s getting kinda’ crowded,” Hunk says. “It was awesome talking to you guys again, but we should go now.”

It’s Allura who speaks up. “Remind Pidge to set up something so we can view the wedding?”

“Sure,” Keith says, and waves at the screen again. Pidge isn’t at the bar because she’s still underage, and so is waiting back in the hotel along with Krolia, Kosmo, and her parents. The room she shares with her brother is on the same floor as Keith’s single, so it’ll be easy enough to drop by tonight on the way back. 

Allura smiles and thanks them, and soon the screen is black in Lance’s hands. Hunk bids them goodbye too, and wanders off down the hall to find Rachel’s boyfriend, Mason, and talk to him about how the Garrison’s new fuel engine is coming along, since he hasn’t visited the facility in a while. 

Now it’s just Lance and Keith. Keith and Lance. Keith, wearing a red button down and his hair back in a bun, strands coming loose and tumbling down one shoulder, painted in shadows and neon lights, and Lance, heart caught in his throat.

He downs the rest of his drink. 

“I’m gonna’ go to the bar,” he announces, and starts walking off in that direction, Keith following too close behind. As they’re going across the dancefloor he grabs Keith’s hand so they don’t get separated, and even sweaty and warm and gripped terribly, the feel of his palm makes butterflies blossom in Lance’s stomach.

They reach the bar and hands untangle, and Lance orders another drink. Keith keeps sipping at his. 

“So,” he starts, “Allura and Romelle are dating.”

“Yep.”

“And you’re fine with that?”

“Yep.”

Keith levels him with a look, like he’s not sure whether to believe him or not. Or rather, to judge weather Lance is okay or not. They’re at the point where they have an instinctual trust between them, forged through years of war in outer space, where they only had a handful of people to be vulnerable to and let walls down around. If Lance was lying, Keith would be able to tell, and it’s very unlikely that he would even have anything to lie about.

It’s one of the things that made everything so easy with them, this trust. Even back when they were fighting, they’d trust each other in battle, back to back facing whatever was thrown at them head on. When they became friends that trust shifted into something interwoven in day to day life. It started with Lance tossing Keith a bag of frozen food goo after practice over his head, Keith catching it without looking, continued with them always making decisions together, always trusting the other to back them up as co-leaders, and ended…. Well, it still hasn’t ended.

So Lance elaborates. “I’m fine, Keith. I won’t say I didn’t miss her back then, or that when I first found out it didn’t hurt somewhere in the back of my heart to see them kiss or anything, but it’s been a long time. I don’t love her that way anymore.” 

“Oh,” comes the very eloquent reply.

His drink gets set down in front of him and Lance laughs. “It’s been two whole-ass years.” He lifts the full glass up, and Keith lifts his own almost-empty one in turn, albeit a bit reluctantly. “A toast to new love, and all that.”

Keith sets his drink back down and hums. “New love, huh…. Are you in love with anyone now?”

Lance almost chokes on his first sip. “Not— not quite. Like, if I did you’d know anyway, I tell you everything.” Except for the fact that Lance is very much in love with Keith, but he’s not planning on that ever coming to light anyway. “Do you? Or, are you, in love, or were, I guess?”

Keith looks down and swirls his what remains of his cocktail around, liquid catching the light as it swishes. “I fell in love back then, during the war.”

Lance exhales, feels the breath leave his lungs, the air leave his whole body. The revelation shouldn’t affect him this much, but of course. Of course Keith is in love with someone. It isn’t even an “I was in love”, it’s “I fell”, like maybe he still is in love. Keith thought Lance was still romantically interested in Allura after two years, of course he’s the type of person to unconditionally love someone for forever, to give up all his heart and bury it under someone else’s ribs, keep it locked in someone else’s chest like a treasure. This shouldn’t bother him because it’s not like Lance was ever expecting to confess, but it hurts way more than learning about Allura moving on ever did, because then he was falling out of love, now he’s falling back in.

Keith continues on, like he hasn’t just cracked open the floor under Lance. “He loved someone else though, so I never even told him.”

“Was he a Blade,” Lance asks, trying desperately to sound casual. He doesn’t know anything from Keith’s time there, it’s the only blank in their friendship. Lance felt blind before, not knowing anything about then, Keith not opening up much about it, but he hates that more than before, for the little bit of despair it opens up. 

Keith hesitates, bites his bottom lip, doesn’t look at Lance, furrows his brows, nods. Nods becauses he fell in love with someone Lance doesn’t even know the name of two years ago and might still be in love with. 

“Ah,” Lance says. He takes another sip of his drink, watches Keith finish his off and order another one. They really should be eating something with these, this definitely isn’t healthy. He takes the lemon ring off the rim of his glass and sucks on it. He can feel the bass of the music in the air, something dumb and mindless and as fitting to watch Keith draped in as these purple lights, as watching him tuck loose strands of hair back into his bun.

Lance crushes the lemon ring in hand, takes another sip of his drink, and then, because he has no self preservation instinct, goes “You know, I used to have a crush on you.”

Keith freezes, and as he turns very slowly to look at him, Lances babbles on. “Back in space and stuff, while you were, like gone or whatever. I missed you and stuff and realized all that rivalry shit was literally just me not understanding I liked you. Like, you were literally sorta’ kinda’ my bi awakening? Coran told me. Like he wasn’t the only reason I realized, obviously, but I don’t know, in hindsight it’s pretty funny—” 

“I liked you too.” 

“Sorry, I like, didn’t get that at all.”

“I liked you too, Lance,” Keith repeats, and Lance feels faint. “I had a crush on you, for basically forever— not forever, but it was kind of long, and probably overlapped you— your— crush. On me.” It’s a bit hard to tell under the lights, but Keith’s face looks very, very red.

“But I didn’t know,” Lance says a bit numbly, “until you were with the Blade, and you fell in love with some alien there, and then I fell in love with Allura.”

“And I wasn’t ever brave enough to tell you,” Keith says, and it almost like a sorry for the missed opportunity.

“The timing was a little off.” 

Keith nods, and his new drink finally gets dropped in front of him. He takes a sip, and Lance does too, because what better way to drown your sorrows.

* * *

 

As it turns out, there are far better ways of doing so. Lance is somewhat drunk, and Keith is somewhat drunk, and on the way back from the restroom to meet Keith halfway to the bar, the dance floor turns into a mosh pit and crushes them together. Lance’s lips brush Keith’s and it’s all history. 

They migrate over to the wall near the door somehow, and they’re kissing, or rather making out. Lance doesn’t have enough inhibitions left to actually listen to the voice inside his head telling him this is a terrible idea, and apparently neither does Keith. The wall is stained and the room is sweaty and they’re in public, but all Lance cares about right now is the heat. There’s fire raging through his veins, at any point of contact where he’s touching Keith, burning pleasantly and making him vaguely, muddled but still brightly, happy.

They pull away for air and Lance says, “you got a piercing” because he felt it on Keith’s tongue. Technically, it could have always been there, it’s not like Lance has had many chances to notice it before.

“And you got hotter,” Keith says, and even though it’s a terrible line Lance still pulls him back in.

Eventually, they break apart long enough to shuffle outside and take a taxi back to the hotel, sitting as far from each other as possible on the seats because they have sense enough to not continue and make the driver extremely uncomfortable. Lance ends up paying the driver too much, and the second the elevator doors close behind them they’re on each other again.

They tumble out and into the hallway, stay apart until they’re inside Keith’s room, then snap back together like magnets. Lance feels hot fingers press into his back, palms rake down his sides as he licks into Keith’s mouth. Electric, this thing between them, flashing bright in the dark of the hotel room. Shuffling clothes and backs against walls.

Lance pulls away and stumbles through the dark, flips on a bedside lamp and shuffles through the drawers until he finds what he’s looking for, because he was in charge of these rooms and he knows everything about them. Keith comes up behind and gently turns him around, actions just a bit clumsy. 

Keith’s fingers weave into his thick curls, tugging, eliciting a sharp intake of breath. Lance complies, pressing up against Keith again and slotting his mouth over the other’s. Someone slides a hand up someone else’s shirt, belts are unbuckled, and sheets are crumpled. Skin on skin on latex and feverish kisses onto collarbones.

* * *

 

Lance wakes up with a pounding headache and Keith curled up into his side.

Rachel pulls him aside during dinner the day after. “What’s going on,” she asks, and has a steely look in her eyes which means she won’t leave him alone.

“What do you mean?” Lance knows exactly what she means, but he also doesn’t want to talk about it. He and Keith woke up together this morning to the sound of Lance’s phone alarm, he’d panicked and threw on his clothes, practically bolting out of the room, leaving Keith groggy and disoriented in bed.

They haven’t talked to each other since, partly because Lance is avoiding him. He fucked up, he slept with a guy who’s still in love with someone else. Maybe Lance is in love with Keith now, but it was a lapse in judgement on the other’s part. Lance feels miserable, hates that it’s _Keith_ of all people that’s making him feel this way, hates himself for blurting out all that stuff about having liked Keith before because it’s painfully obvious that it was the only reason this had even happened.

“ _I mean_ between you and Keith,” Rachel says. “You two are normally attached at the hip.”

“I’m surprised you even noticed anything was different with how much you’ve been fawning over Mason,” he bites back, then instantly regrets it. It’s no one’s fault they haven’t been hanging out much lately, but he just wants to lash out and hurt something. She hasn’t seen her boyfriend in months, it’d be odd if they weren’t as attached as they are now. They’re just like him and Keith. Or how him and Keith were until today.

“I’m sorry,” he says at Rachel’s hurt expression, before she can even say anything back. “That was so uncalled for, I’m just….”

“I’m going,” she says, and he has a momentary bout of panic as she heads for the door out of their kitchen. “I’m going to bring Keith in and you’re both going to talk,” and he has another bout of panic at that too. 

He debates opening up the back door and running out, but eventually decides to just stay. He’s been through firefights and battle in sentient robot lions, he can muster up the last dregs of his courage to face this. To face being told not to think too much about it, that it was a mistake and to go back to being friends, but to never be the same again and lose the comforting physicality of their relationship. 

Lance doesn’t know how he’d survive without Keith’s closeness, the stray touches between them, the hugs and hand holding and the sense of ease which washes over him at the reminder of Keith’s presence. The emotional closeness too, fond smiles and late nights talking and the understanding and trust between them. Lance backs up into then onto the counter and takes a seat.

Keith comes in a few minutes later, lingers by the door and opens then closes his mouth adorably. He walks over to the counter and stands a few feet in front of Lance, then starts speaking, like he was about to do this at the door then thought better of it and decided to do it here, close. It’s not surprising, when Keith has always been the headstrong, impulsive, more than a little brave one.

“Hey,” he says, quiet.

Lance takes a breath and forces himself to look up and meet the other’s eyes. “Hey,” Lance responds, watching Keith watch him with intensity and kindness and maybe a little panic. His hair is mussed up, like he’s been running his hands through it the whole day, loose and not tied up. There’s a hair tie around his wrist, and Lance can just imagine him tugging on his ponytail constantly until it just came undone.

“I lied,” Keith blurts out, a bit randomly.

“You’re going to have to be a bit more specific.” Lance tries to smile, but it won’t stay.

“There was no Blade, the person I fell in love with was— was—” Keith sounds choked, distressed, and even with all that’s going on, some base instinct in Lance wants nothing more than to hold the man and soothe him. “—you. The person I fell in love with, out there in space, was you. And yesterday, I don’t know if you meant it or not, but I did, and I want to try and have something with you, if you want.”

 _Holy fucking shit,_ Lance thinks.

“Yes,” Lance says. He’s dazed, because Keith wants him, Keith wants to try something out with him, a relationship. He’s even more dazed that Keith loved him, back out there, at some point in time, Keith used to love Lance, maybe the way Lance loves him now. The timing was terrible, like the universe was trying to keep them apart, but maybe not because they have each other now. “I mean, I want to have something too.”

Keith looks so relieved that he practically melts. “Okay. Okay. Nice.”

Lance nods. “Very nice. So. Boyfriends?”

“Yes,” Keith says. “Yes, boyfriends.”

“Boyfriends,” Lance repeats, tastes the word on his tongue feels his heart rate quicken. 

“Boyfriends.”

* * *

 

The next week goes by in a rush of bright colors and bubbling sunlight. Everything feels more saturated now, with the building happiness in his chest, like it's rising into a film over his eyes that turns everything pink and blue and gold. He helps organize the banners and the rose and fuschia and red flood his senses, sees Veronica trying her dress on one last time and cries a few tears, because he feels so emotional that everything is spilling over.

It’s not a bad thing, like being overwhelmed and shutting down during Shiro and Adam’s wedding, but just feeling everything strongly. He feels full, bursting at the seams in the best way possible, like he’s so content that the joy just wants to explode out and shower everyone else.

It’s one of the busiest weeks so far, but over the stress is a blanket of warmth fortified whenever Keith catches him at odd hours of the day, in between shifts of going place to place with his family. He’ll fall into Keith’s side or lap, they’ll lace their fingers together and talk softly or, more often than not, kiss. They get lost like this so often that Mami’s set Marco to tear them apart every time he finds them together and bring Lance back to the present, usually with place cards or flowers or pocket squares thrown in his face. 

Hunk, Shiro and Adam are delighted when they first walk into the hotel lobby and see them sucking face, while Pidge and Krolia are a bit more neutral due to the pleasure of, well, watching them suck face. Mami and Papi are happy if Lance is happy, and Abuelo claims she thought they’d been dating for months. Keith will have to leave again after the wedding is over, but this short period of time they have together is euphoric.

“You’re gonna’ ruin my suit,” Lance tells him, taking Keith’s hand in his own and bringing them back down from his chest. Keith lets out a little displeased sound, which is easy enough to complain about when it isn’t his suit that’s being fitted. But, because Lance can’t resist him, he leans down and gives him a lingering kiss, pulling apart when the curtain around them rustles and a man walks in. 

He measures Lance’s shoulders, waist and arms, has him spin around, places a few pins in the hem on the coat, takes it and says he’ll be back in ten minutes. Lance turns back to Keith and steps down from the little platform he was standing on.

“ _Now_ , can I kiss you,” Keith asks, eyeing his rumpled t-shirt, and Lance pulls the other in.

“Yes, please.” He cards his fingers through Keith’s hair, because he’s determined to pull it from its tie, and fits their mouths together. 

Keith kisses like he does everything, Lance has learned, which isn’t that surprising. He kisses passionately, long and hard, until their lips are bruised and on fire. Lance always slows them down because he ends up smiling into the kiss, happy to be with the one he loves like this, and then Keith will follow suit and smile too. They have to take a break, then resume again in short, slow kisses, and because it isn’t working Lance takes to running his upturned mouth over Keith’s scar, who’s breath hitches and hold tightens on the front of Lance’s shirt.

That’s another thing Lance has noticed. Keith will always hold onto the front of his shirt, even when they’re pressed up against each other, like he’s pulling Lance in, holding him in, afraid of him pulling back and running.

Lance holds Keith’s hand in his own, detangles it from his shirt to bring it up to his lips, and places a kiss on each knuckle. He can feel Keith’s eyes on him, intent as he stays very still.

“Lance,” Keith starts, voice a little hoarse. “I wanted to tell, before, that I never stopped lo—”

“We need to— Jesus Christ, you guys are horrible, how has the tailor put up with you.”

“Marco,” Lance hisses, turning around as Keith practically flies away from him. “What are you doing here?” He frantically tries to right himself and look like he hadn’t just been making out, pushing his shirt back down from where it’d ridden up. 

Marco is standing in front of the curtain, with a hand clamped over his eyes. Lance has been called dramatic but Marco’s both that and an ass, he and Keith hadn’t even been kissing when the other came in. There’s a bag draped over Marco’s arm, probably his own suit jacket. “Mami called and said we should meet up with them at the diner in fifteen.”

“Fine, I got it, now would you _please leave_ ,” Lance says, and makes a little shooing motion with his hands as he shepards his brother out. The man finally drops his hand so that he can see and scowls as he makes his way back out.

“I’m checking in again in ten minutes, and if you’re still playing tonsil tennis I’m leaving without you,” he calls back as he leaves, and Lance can feel his face go even hotter than before.

“What a dick,” he mumbles, and Keith gives a halting laugh from where he is, arms now crossed.

“He’s right though, this is a detriment to your job.”

“I don’t care,” Lance says, and sniffs a little petulantly. Still, instead of walking back into Keith’s arms he climbs the little platform instead. When the tailor comes back out and Lance donns the jacket again, being turned to and fro, Keith pulls out his phone and checks the news. There’s a storm building out in the Atlantic, but the weatherman says it probably won’t be a hurricane,  and talk of new Galaxy Garrison aircraft tests, because they’re always on the news lately, plus there’s something about a new contract signed so that aliens could come and visit earth for non-business purposes in twenty years.

Eventually, Lance is let go of and his suit jacket is bagged. Marco has already left without them, not at all defying expectations, and once they’re outside back in the sun, Lance grabs hold of Keith’s hand. It feels like eons and not minutes since they’d last touched, and he’s absolutely delighted that they’re able to hold hands like this now, without a pretense of a reason and just because they can. He swings their clasped palms between them as they walk, admires the interlaced pattern of brown skin against pale, though still tanned, skin. (Summer is a good look on Keith)

He catches Keith looking at him out of the corner of his eye, and Keith smiles.

“We should probably hurry,” Lance says, a little breathless at the sight of him grinning so beautifully, sun warming his complexion and bangs being lifted in the wind.

Keith hums. “I’m sure they won’t miss us too much.” He lifts their interlocked hands in front of him, consequently tugging Lance closer, and examines them. He slows down, bows his head, and presses his lips against the back of Lance’s hand.

Lance’s heart jackrabbits in his chest, because he can apparently make out with Keith without a problem but a chaste kiss sends him reeling. _I love you_ , he thinks, sky high and and wanting to yell it to the word, but too scared to even whisper it into the space between them. _I love you so goddamn much, you’re so cute. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I’d marry you in a second._  

He doesn’t follow through on any of these thoughts, because this thing between them is still new and fragile, and because he doesn’t want to scare Keith off with the enormity of his emotions. Keith may have loved him in the past, but that doesn’t mean anything two years later. He doesn’t say any of his thoughts out loud, just lets them bake under the Varadero sun, because they’re definitely together now, but love isn’t even part of the equation yet.

* * *

 

The wedding happens with barely a hitch. Pidge and Hunk rig up a set to broadcast a transmission of it to Allura, Ezor, and Zethrid, the cake is towering and a beautiful gradient of pinks and has custom sugar figurines of the brides set at the top, and the guests are all seated sufficiently so as to not have any chaos during the after party. The roses cause a few sneezes all around, particularly with Pidge and one of Veronica’s college friends, but overall it’s lovely, and the sweeping kiss Acxa dips her new wife into has its audience cheering and wolf whistling.

Veronica tearfully hugs him, careful not to crumple her gown, and thanks him for all the decorations and the rainbow bouquets scattered about. Lance hugs her back and sends her off to dance, then gets pulled into one himself with Mami then Rachel then Keith. He eats too much cake, is whirled around the room from conversation to conversation, and gives a toast during dinner, to his beautiful sister and her beautiful wife and to all the accepting people there. Their colleagues then get onstage as a group and recount how slowly and painfully the two got together, everyone has a laugh, then Papi talks about how much his little girl went and grew up.

 It’s a night that’s hard to forget, partly because of all the emotions and partly because his feet ache from the shoes for days after. Lance has dinner with his family, both his blood one and the one he made in outer space in the time between each star system, and accidentally spills champagne on Adam’s cake, which turns out to be a happy accident anyway.

He wakes up the next morning in Keith’s bed, still wearing his suit and face pressed into the other’s neck. There’s light filtering in through the window blinds, watery and painting lines of shadow and sun onto everything. He readjusts and works out the crick in his neck, and drapes an arm back over Keith’s torso.

His cheek is lined, and his lips are parted the slightest, pink and soft. His hair is a mess, the inky strands strewn over his forehead, a little sticking to his chin with drool, and Lance notes with far too much fondness that he should offer to detangle it when Keith wakes up.

There is dust cast by Keith’s black lashes over the tops of his cheekbones, and when his eyes flutter and twitch a little the pools of dust quiver. There’s a soft moan as he starts to wake up, thick brows furrowing, and he shifts in the state between sleep and awareness. “Lance,” he mumbles, and squints his eyes open.

“Right here, baby,” Lance says back, and moves his arm up to Keith’s shoulders to prompt the other to turn and face him.

Keith yawns then complies, reaching forward to tangle his legs with Lance’s and settling under the thin blanket. His shirt collar is popped, and caresses his cheek. His eyes are still narrowed to slits, and just slivers of his dark irises can be seen. “Let's have a day in bed,” he says, voice raspy and pulled from the dredges of sleep. 

Lance can’t help but smile, and leans in until their noses are brushing. “Don’t you have to pack,” he asks, but the voice of reason is a thin facade. He’s already mentally set to just stay in all day, even if it’s just a small bed in a bland hotel room.

“Flight’s at night,” Keith responds, and his eyes are more awake now, black circles with flattened tops and bottoms. “And we don’t have to check out until….”

“Until evening,” Lance finishes, and tries to press a kiss on the cheek squished against his pillow, but has to maneuver around Keith’s nose and gets halfway on his eyelid instead.

Keith snakes an arm around Lance’s neck and pulls him, tries to slot their mouths together, but Lance slides a hand between them.

“I’m not kissing you until you brush your teeth,” he says, and Keith huffs but slides away and off the bed. Lance immediately regrets it, because now he’s cold and alone. Hotel air conditioning is terrible.

“Fine,” Keith says, “but you order room service while I’m in the bathroom.”

“Fine,” Lance says back, “but you get to set up Netflix while _I’m_ in the bathroom.”

“You’re so petty,” Keith calls from the bathroom, but Lance can hear the smile in his voice.

“And you’re pretty!”

There’s startled laughter, which then cuts out and is replaced with the sound of running water. Lance smiles to himself, then pulls the blanket up over his head. “I love you,” he whispers into the small pocket of darkness, stupidly and incandescently happy.

* * *

 

_The lions talk in different ways, Lance has realized._

_With Red, its emotions, fast and thrown at him with force until he can’t tell the difference between what’s his and what’s not. It’s the thrill of riding fast and not being able to tell if Red is yelling and laughing through him, or it’s Lance on his own, it’s fierce protectiveness over the others that’s so strong it almost knocks him off his feet, it’s wave upon wave of anger, burning and raging and bubbling up side, taking him over during battle, until afterwards he’s nothing but a shell of rage. It leaves him feeling like a husk each time, empty and bottomed out._

_He hates that._

_He wonders if it had been the same way for Keith, but something intrinsic tells him no, that it couldn’t have. The reason he feels overtaken, blown back is because he can’t up with the torrential emotions, with everything Red is radiating. They’re not compatible in that way; they can work together and fight together well enough, Lance and the red lion, but in the end he ends up buried underneath it all._

_It took weeks to get used to, back when they first switched. After all, with Blue it had been different, is different._

_Blue speaks like she isn't speaking at all. She roars and purrs and rumbles aloud and inside his mind, as all the lions due, but she can’t communicate like that. Instead, it’s as simple as having the rushing of a stream in the background, and it coming into focus for a moment. It’s not surprising or overwhelming, just always there, sometimes in tune and sometimes not._

_It’s just thought. When Lance is talking, he’s thinking in the back of his head but not consciously, he doesn’t mull things over in him brain, the thoughts form and he just knows what to say. It’s like that. If she wants to say something the thought will be there, somewhere in Lance’s mind. He doesn’t ever hear it, and it’s never in words or sentences. Just a thought placed there, no words but articulate and clear and understandable._  

_When Lance and Red fight together, he can’t tell where one stops and the other starts, it’s just emotions tossed around back and forth. When Lance and Blue fly, they’re human and sentient warship, but they’re also the same in a way. It’s simple and easy and always right there, he never has to reach or toss a thought or catch a feeling. Even before he’s finished thinking, Blue knows, and even before Blue can so much as roar, Lance has seen the obstacle through her eyes—_

* * *

 

“Hurricane Perseo has been recategorized as a category 3, and is now predicted to travel directly over Varadero, Cuba.” 

The weatherman says it so casually, with barely any inflection, that Lance almost misses it. The colorful map on screen is cut through by a red dotted line, tearing right through where he currently stands. Luis hushes Sylvio and Nadia where they’re playing with toy trucks and turns up the T.V. volume. “Officials are currently in discussion about what measures should be taken, but with six days to go and the entire country being certainly within its path, area inhabitants are encouraged to prepare and evacuate.”

Mami crosses herself right then and there, looking pale, and all Lance can say is “Holy shit.” Sylvio complains to his father that his Tío said a bad word, but no one pays attention.

Savina Álvarez from across the street knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that she’s going to stay exactly where she is, because, in her words, she spent the last 90 years living on that very plot of land and she’s not about to die anywhere else. The García family’s dogs from a few blocks down bark and wail into the night, sensing the impending disaster, and old Lao is staying to take care of them through it all. Lisa starts packing her bags, and Luis books tickets to Arizona for her and the kids to stay with Veronica and Acxa at the Garrison. 

And against seemingly all common sense, the rest of the Espinosa-McClains decide to stay, too.

This house, in all its big broken glory, with the stained walls and creaky floorboards and mismatched carpet, has reared and raised every single one of them, gave them sanctuary. The little pocket of beach under a kilometer away, where lost pets all wander into eventually, taught each and every one of them how to swim. The weathered tire swing attached to the palm behind their home gave them moments of reprieve and thought. Every inch of Varadero, in some way, has given them something invaluable, and to take that little piece they'd been so lovingly given and rip it from where it belonged, carry it around like some sacred coral branch thoughtlessness ripped from the ocean, would be unthinkable.

Abuela calls them all crazy bastards. She stays with them too.

* * *

 

All he has to do, is reach out.

Lance lays in the sea, floats on his back in the night sky, reflected moon spilling white all over his fingertips. He breathes in through his nose, holds, breathes out. What does he want, now, in this small halcyon, in this calm before the storm.

Comfort, maybe, is all it is. Or just wanting the presence in his mind, another voice, even light years away. Or even just the action of trying to connect, while he still can. 

All he has to do is reach out.

Lance was born swimming, practically, has been in love with the water for his entire life. Has dove deep, enveloped himself in the blue, loves it more than anything else. Lance was also born with a yearning to fly up to those stars. His infant hands reached and his grandfather's old arms hoisted, and together they crept closer to the ceiling of night. Lance has known these two things since he came into this world, cradled in blue, swathed in galaxies. He has loved the depths of the ocean, flew into the void of space. He was made for something, something, something.

All he has to do is reach out. So he does, he reaches out to Blue, calls out to her, in as many ways as he knows how, just wants, yearns, longs. Lays there, in between the ocean and night, and wants. 

There is no answer.

* * *

 

“Lance, please—” Keith’s voice is rough and raspy over the phone, scratchy from sleep and poor cell signal. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Like we haven’t seen worse,” he replies, a certain cockiness in his voice. It’s not appropriate for the moment but he doesn’t know what else to do.

“This is different, you have a chance to leave, you’re all so close to shore—” Keith’s begging breaks off, like the silence on the other end of the line and calm collectedness of the past ten minutes are finally reaching him. “Why,” he says finally, flat and tired.

“It’s my decision.” Lance goes quiet for a moment, before finally saying “You wouldn’t leave Red would you, or your shack?” It’s a rhetorical question of course, because they both know what it feels like to be desperately, _willingly_ chained to a home.

There’s sigh, long and drawn out, and then Lance hears the muffled sounds of Keith shifting around. “Be careful,” he hears.

“I will.”

There’s the sound of a breath, too close to the speaker and causing the line to crackle. “I love you,” he hears. “I never stopped loving you I never will.”

There’s a long beep, signalling he’s been hung up on, before Lance can even open his mouth to say the words back.

* * *

 

“So we’ve been storing up water in all these bottles and old milk jugs,” Lance finishes, and Allura frowns at him from through the screen. She’s sitting inside the new castle, the bright sunlight streams through from somewhere out of frame, turning the metal walls streaky white.

“That sounds quite terrible,” she says, clearly distressed. “And there isn’t anything you can do about these hurricanes?”

Lance shakes his head. “Not really. It’s not like Voltron’s gonna’ come down and hunch over everyone.”

Allura manages a strained smile. “Wouldn’t it be more productive to hold the shield over—”

The castle and Allura shake, trembling as there’s a thundering sound. The world turns sideways and Lance realizes whatever device she had been using to video him has fallen. “Are you okay,” he asks, too loud for this late at night and panic shooting through his heart.

The screen goes black for a moment then rights itself, back but blurry. Allura pulls away as it focuses. “Yes, I’m fine. I need to check on what that—” She cuts off with a gasp, and her altean markings glow brightly. “It’s the lions,” she chokes out, then reaches forward again. “Lance, I need to go,” she says, then the call cuts out.

Lance is left, lying in bed, staring at his tablet in the dark, and prays that everything turns out okay.

* * *

 

Lance crawls out his bedroom window, bare feet scraping against the house wall before scuffing on cool dirt. He runs across the field that is his backyard, and then walks down the empty roads until he hits the boulder where the ground falls away. He climbs down, and lands in a cove, sand and surf and water. He shoots his family all a mass text saying he’ll be sure to be back before everything starts, and sits down.

There are little crabs scuttling around where the ocean meets the sand, oranges and pinks turned brown under the overcast sky. Lance sees the way some get pulled back into the ocean by an unexpected wave, sees the way rustling palms overhead dapple the beach in shifting shadows, sees the way rain splatters and collects on his skin in droplets, sees the way little granules of sand get pressed into his palms. 

He stays there for hours, just staring down the horizon, waiting. Breathing in the salted air, feeling the wind whip his t-shirt and swim shorts around his body. He feels unbearably small, a speck on the coastline, but within this little beach, a small pale scar from above, he feels good too.

The blue ocean has gone from the sapphire of his own eyes, turned the tumultuous navy of sailor’s stories. He sees his mother’s eyes go dark as she sees the faded burn on his back, swaths of skin pink and shiny and damaged. He sees Veronica’s eyes dim as he tells her no, stop, I’m the one fighting this war, not you, right before she smothers him in a hug. 

He hears Papi strumming a guitar to the same old song they played at his parent’s wedding, smells the overload of body spray Marco always wears, sees Luis kissing his wife and kids goodnight. He feels his twin sister a slip a hand into his own, Rachel and Lance against the world.

He remembers Abuelo saying life is only ever as good as he makes it, remembers Abuela giving Lance his book of poems.

Maybe he should feel dread, or the numb emptiness of knowing this is the end, in some way or another, knowing a part of him would die with this hurricane, but he doesn’t feel any of that. Sitting here, sand in between his toes, ocean gusts whispering, yelling into his ears, his family held tight within his hands, he feels full.

There is something, some indescribable something, that snaps into place while drenched in rain and waiting to be devoured by sea. Like water springing forth from a crack in a damn, then bursting and rushing forward, spilling out, and Lance clutches his chest, wraps his arms around himself and squeezes tightly to hold it all in.

Above the wind and rain and pounding heartbeat, Lance hears a roar.

* * *

 

Blue is big, sleek, more powerful than he remembers. Water streaks down her sides like tears, metal bright and glowing, and when she touches ground all the palm trees curve towards her, paying respects to a deity just landed.

“Welcome back beautiful,” Lance says over the lump in his throat.

* * *

 

Flying Blue is the easiest thing he’s ever done. It’s easier than yelling at his siblings or even kissing Keith, and it’s like they haven’t spent years apart. 

Lance slides into her pilot seat and it’s like it was made for him, and everything is the same as the short 9 months when he’d piloted her. The controls are all cool to the touch, like they’ve all just been plucked from the sea and fitted together, and she purrs under his control, every touch electric. He feels like a livewire, leans back into his chair, and lets out a mangled sound somewhere between a whoop and a cry.

The ride back to his house is unbearably short, a couple minute even going slowly, and they both pull away pained. “I’ll be back soon,” he promises, then runs out her mouth to where Rachel is staring at him in shock from the back porch.

“No time to explain, just grab everyone and get them inside Blue,” he says and shoves his bare feet into some flip flops. “She’ll keep us safe.”

Before Rachel can even give him a response he’s running around the house and across the street, impatiently ringing Savina Álvarez’s doorbell. When she finally opens up it’s near impossible to convince her to join them inside an alien warship, but she finally concedes after learning that Blue’s force field could protect her house too. He helps her grab her things and some gallon cartons of water, and runs them inside Blue. 

He’s about to leave, jetting off to go get Lao García and his dogs when he doubles back around. Lance almost trips over himself getting to Blue, and she leans forward for him. He presses his forehead against her nose. “Thank you,” he breathes out, voice shaky. He allows himself to revel in this solace for a moment, then tears himself away, and takes off down the pavement again, chest feeling lighter.

By the time he’s gathered everyone back up into Blue, his own family’s transferred all their supplies into the storage area in Blue’s torso. Almost everyone is resting there, and at some point they’d figured out how to pull out the extra cots and blankets.

Rachel grabs his arm to get his attention, and he turns. “Mami’s in the cockpit,” she says, and the look in her eyes means to go talk to her. Lance nods, squeezes one of her hands briefly, and travels up to Blue’s head. 

His mother is standing behind the pilot’s chair, hand running along the upholstered armrest, head bowed. He walks up to her and wraps an arm around her, and she leans her head on his shoulder. They used to be in this exact same pose whenever he’d cried as a kid, positions reversed and her heads taller than him rather than how it is now, the other way around.

“So this is what took you away from me,” she says finally.

“She did what she had to do to save the universe.” Lance swallows. “She took me away to save you.”

His mother doesn’t say anything, just stands there, staring intently at the chair like it’ll tell her something. There’s a rumble in his mind, distant and deliberately pulled away from him. He feels Mami stiffen, shift so both her hands are gripping the back of the seat. There’s another rumble, and Lance realizes something passed between the two that he can’t share, mother to mother.

Mami turns without a word and leaves the cockpit, and it's a few moments more before Lance sits down. Blue washes over him, settles him. He maneuvers her into the air, then gently sets her down again next to Álvarez’s house and turns on her force field.

Blue hums, the sound of waves lapping gently on a shore. And now they wait.

* * *

 

They stay cooped up inside for 16 hours. Lance spends the first few with his family and the neighbors, playing charades or the weird chess-like game he’d bought from some alien planet and stashed in Blue during his third month in space. After a while they break out the rations and have an early dinner, and Lance returns to the cockpit to track the storm around them.

It’s travelling northwest over them, Blue’s holographic map says, and he sends out a quick prayer to all those affected. It’s a reflection of the times before, in the beginning when he used to pray for all the planets they’d seen ravaged by the Galra, though as time went on and nothing seemed to do anything, he eventually gave up. He tries to sleep then, but after two and half years of sleeping on his own bed, the pilot’s seat is no longer comfortable.

Blue prods him gently, nudges his mind and guides his hands across the controls. On her screen she’s pulled up a copy of his own book, and he dimly realizes that Pidge must've gotten a digital copy to Allura, who must’ve downloaded it onto the lions’ shared library. The program is supposed to be used for reference, important documents and survival guides, and Lance feels a swell of affection for the two.

His grandfather’s own book is wrapped and tucked safely into Rachel’s backpack, as she’d shown him a few hours ago, and he’d hugged her in relief at remembering what he didn’t. 

Lance reads through his own poems then, specifically the ones to do with his friends, because now, trapped in a storm with his blood relatives and Blue, the loss of part of his family is tangible. He wishes the rest of them were in their lions too, just so he could pull up their faces in a group call, see Hunk’s smile, Shiro’s calm confidence, Coran’s ridiculous mustache, and especially Keith’s face, dark eyes glittering and pout on his lips, mad at some dumb thing Lance had just said, just like in the old days.

The longing stretches taught over him, and Blue hushes him and rocks him to sleep with foggy thoughts and feelings.

* * *

The other’s come down and visit, three days later.

Lance and everyone else are staying inside Ms. Álvarez’s home, as it’s the only house that had been protected from the winds and rain. Sadly, their own house is broken down and collapsed in itself, from what Lance can see of it through Blue’s eyes. They can’t risk her lowering her force field without water flooding in, so they’d decided that until their rations are on the low side, they’d stay within the protected area. 

The Garrison private jet flies over head at 9:04 AM, and Blue gently releases the top of the field, allowing an opening for the obnoxiously orange plane to land on the strip of dry road. Practically the moment the doors open up, Lance gets tackled into a hug, soon followed by two other blurs.

“Can't breathe,” he says, voice tight, and Keith, Hunk, and Pidge loosen their holds, only to replaced with Veronica, Sylvio, and Nadia.

“I was so worried,” a voice says next to his ear, and Lance chuckles while the rest of his family joins in on the group hug.

“Well, we’re okay now, Ver.”

“Only thanks to the giant lion that got here out of nowhere! If you were banking on this I’d be pissed.”

“Definitely not,” Lance says. 

Lao follows up with an “It was a miracle of God!” from across the lawn, and Veronica finally pulls away, leaving everyone else to follow suit.

“We brought extra supplies.”

“Now that’s the real miracle,” Marco says. “I thought we’d be eating canned beans for forever.

Veronica snorts. “You’ll be happy to get first pick of these canned _peas_ then.” 

Lance gets spun around out of the hug as people go and start carrying supplies over from the jet into the house. He lands in Keith’s arms, as always.

Keith holds him from behind, so tight it’s like he’s crushing them together, rests his head on Lance’s shoulder. “I’m never letting you go again,” he says, burying his face into Lance’s neck. “Please don’t go anywhere where I can’t reach you.” 

Lance swallows thickly, places his hands over where Keith’s are on his stomach. “Yeah, I’m sorry.”

“You need to stop apologizing,” Keith murmurs, and presses his lips under Lance’s jaw. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“Then I’m sorry for apologizing.”

Keith huffs, and Lance can feel it on his skin. Every inch of himself feels warmed, by every point of contact he and Keith have. Like the chill that had settled in his bones, that had seeped in from the soggy earth and humid air is evaporating.

“I don’t ever want you to let go either.” Lance says. “I hate being so far away from you, always. Even now, or before the hurricane, I was worried about my family and wanted to protect them but—” _But I wanted someone to protect me, too._ “I wanted you to be with me. I especially missed your hugs.”

“I always thought I was terrible at hugs.” 

Lance shakes his head, and can feel Keith’s hair, soft against his stubbled face. “I love your hugs. I never want you to let go.”

“Oh.” 

“We’ll need to rebuild our house,” Lance starts, feeling nervousness bubble up in his chest. “You could stay and help us out, if you want.” 

Keith pulls away a little, and Lance turns around in the loop of his arms. “I’ll stay for as long as you want me to. I’ll stay for forever if you’ll let me.”

Lance lets out a sound halfway between a laugh and the beginnings of a sob. “Is that a proposal, Kogane?”

“If you want it to be,” comes the reply, eyes dark and burning, face flushed and lip being bitten.

“Yes,” Lance says, both to wanting it, and to it. Keith looks so shocked that it almost makes Lance giggle. “We should wait a few years before getting married though, I don’t want to steal anyone else’s thunder.” 

“You need to rebuild,” Keith says, a little numbly and Lance goes to nuzzle his nose. “The whole place needs to be rebuilt.

“So we’ll buy rings in a year, then wait another two and have the wedding in space.”

“Here,” Keith says, more focussed. “We should have our wedding on that little beach we always went to.”

Lance hums in delight. “Whatever you want, darling.”

“We’re going to get married,” Keith says, cradling Lance to his chest, in the middle of a field of waterlogged destruction, as people carry supplies two and fro from a military plane, an alien warship, and a rickety century old house. “We’re going to get married.”

“I love you,” Lance says, because he realizes that he never said it before. “I love you so much Keith Kogane, you wouldn’t believe. I love you almost as much as I love Blue.”

That startles a laugh out of Keith. “Not as much?”

“Hmm, not quite, you don’t have the same pizzaz.”

“The same razzle dazzle?” 

Lance nods and kisses his cheek.

“I don’t think I love you more than Red, too, so I guess we’re even.”

“We’re even and we’re fiancées,” Lance says.

“We’re fiancées. We were boyfriends for a month.”

“You move too fast.” 

“You don’t move fast enough,” Keith says, and presses his mouth to Lance’s, and despite what he said, kisses him like he has all the time in the world, like he’s always going to be kissing him. Keith and Lance, like they’ll always be a kiss away.

* * *

 

_—Allura had once said that the bond between Lion and Paladin is sacred, and Lance knows it to be true in the most intimate way possible. There’s nothing as fulfilling as being connected like this, nothing as intimate._

_Blue speaks to him wordlessly, and Lance knows, now, in a way that he never knew before. That nothing which keeps him up at night is his fault, that nothing which he should be over but isn’t is his fault. It’s like being submerged underwater, brought into the most peaceful calm, he’s never felt so complete. Blue speaks without speaking and tells him, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay._

_Lance knows what it means to be whole in this way, has known since that fateful day out in the desert, deep in a wet cave surrounded by dry sand and arid clear sky, has known ever since he met her. Had lost it for some time, for years, because that’s always what happened with these things, you find them then you lose them and yes yes yes you find them again. Lance finds this again because he finds her again. Because for Lance, with Red he felt, he burned, overwhelmingly so; with Allura he craved, so much it felt like his chest was bursting; with Keith, he loved loves will love so deeply and profoundly and he is content; with Blue, he simply_ **_is_ ** _._

**Author's Note:**

> the title of the fic is a reference to lance and blue, in case it wasnt clear (i doubt it was lol)
> 
> but yeah this is it, i hope you liked it!! this was my final love letter to voltron and it meant a lot to me, so i hope it meant something to you too. and, since this is the end and most acknowledgments come at the end, ive realized, special thanks to AceAquarius and AngelWalkingTheStars on here for beta reading this and also just being amazing friends overall. its been amazing going through the wild ride that was voltron with you two, and im glad i kept watching it for you guys :') 
> 
> and one big thank you to lance, who may not be real but helped a teenage me through a lot these past two years, and who even helped me realize and accept that im bisexual. ill never forget how deeply comforting this character was for me <3


End file.
